


Could I Try Again, Try Again, Try Again?

by thezeekrecord



Series: At Least You're Real To Me [1]
Category: Half Life VR But The AI Is Self Aware
Genre: M/M, Medical Abuse, forced surgery/sedation, he's just there to be an antagonist, u don't have to know dr. breen to understand this, unreality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:29:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 82,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27907495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thezeekrecord/pseuds/thezeekrecord
Summary: When Dr. Coomer becomes Bubby's new lab partner, he eventually has to come to terms with the fact that he's fallen in love with him. Being a top secret Black Mesa experiment, though, they can't see each other romantically--so as complicated situations are thrown at them one after another, all they can do is simply hope for a day they can be together.HELLO this is a rewrite!! i didn't like a lot of things about the original so i decided to remake it. the old version is still up due to popular request, but if you're looking at my writing for the first time, PLEASE read this one instead lol. if you've read the original though and are interested in the changes i made, i provide a general explanation in the ending notes on chapter 1! i've added a lot of new scenes, though, many of them from dr. coomer's perspective this time around!
Relationships: Bubby/Dr. Coomer (Half-Life)
Series: At Least You're Real To Me [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1930819
Comments: 32
Kudos: 66





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first off, hello, this entire fic in the first place was inspired by headcanons tumblr user batz wrote!! a lot of scenes have changed since the original but the foundation of it was inspired by their headcanons!
> 
> also second off, as always, do Not interact if you're a pro-shipper.
> 
> and lastly, if you're new to my writing, here's a forewarning that while i did my best to maintain this fic as a standalone, there are going to be a couple plotpoints that i've added/expanded upon in here that are buildup to the next part in the series, [good afternoon, good evening, and goodnight](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26550925)! there will be a couple things that are intended to feel unresolved. so i hope you'll consider reading that one too, but it's very long so if u don't...no judgement lol
> 
> anyways also, CW for this chapter: forced sedation

His existence began with a murky, green liquid, mostly obscuring his vision of the faint figures that moved around him. He couldn’t remember the first time he ever opened his eyes; not that _anyone_ can, of course. Nobody remembers their time spent in the womb, the moment they’re born, or the very first conscious thought they had. He did, however, spend a lot of time quietly observing, taking in a language he couldn’t understand just yet spoken to him over what he’d later come to understand as speakers.

He _had_ been a baby at some point. He just grew at a much faster rate than an average human; somewhere around 9 months spent in a tube, where he rapidly grew to the physical and mental development of an adult. He learned basic things in the tube. Basic language, basic concepts, basic life; it was one thing to have these things poured into his brain through a tube connected to the base of his neck, but it was another to _apply_ it, particularly when he was experiencing panic for the first time in his life. The day he was first released from the tube was nothing but a rush of pure, animalistic fear as the water he’d only ever existed in, essentially what felt like his entire _world,_ began funneling into a drain beneath him.

He _could_ breathe regular air, of course, he just hadn’t before. He shook violently, clawing at the floor as he heaved up water and took in real air in its place. It was so thin, so cold, so dry; he coughed involuntarily, spitting out the remainder of the precious water he’d breathed for so long. It _hurt._ Everything hurt, he thought as he curled up on the floor of the now drained tube. His body was too heavy. The air was too thin. The world was too sharp. His body acted of its own accord, forcing him to breathe much too fast, and his lungs ached with the effort. His eyes stung with tears as he listened to the overwhelming sound of mechanical whirring right beside his head, then voices, without the comfortable accompaniment of static.

“Is he okay?” A scientist asked as he felt hands on his shoulders for the very first time.

“Oh, you’ve never been around for letting one out, have you?” Another pointed out as those hands dragged him up to sit upright. He forced his eyes shut against the light around him. “It’s just overwhelming for them, usually. He should be alright once he adjusts.”

He felt something else being draped around him. It was warm and dry against his bare skin, so he clung to it, burying his face in it as he sat there. He felt the hands withdraw from him, to which he could only let out a shaky, relieved sigh.

He was left alone for a few moments, voices he didn’t care to listen to chattering away as he adjusted. Finally, though, he felt hands on him again, and he was getting dragged slowly up to his feet. His legs shook as he stood up, slowly opening his eyes. He’d been given a blanket, which he held shut tight around him as the hands withdrew to let him stand on his own.

“Hey. How do you feel?” One of the scientists closest to him asked.

He was being spoken to, he recognized. Not just spoken _at,_ but _to;_ they were expecting an answer out of him. He tried to form words for them, struggling to figure out how to make the appropriate sounds he’d heard countless times.

“Mmm...b-...” He tried. “Bu...b-b...y.”

The scientists seemed amused by that, glancing at each other with quiet, reserved chuckles. He shivered involuntarily.

“Uhh—struggling with speech, at the moment.” One of the scientists said as he wrote on a notepad. “Maybe we failed with this one, too.”

“Oh, give him some time.” Another one huffed. “He _just_ got out. You can’t expect him to say anything right now, can you?”

“Hey, you weren’t here for the one that immediately started cussing everyone out.” That first one retorted, to which everyone else laughed at.

“I don’t know, we’ve had good luck with the other ones. Maybe he just needs a bit more time.” Another replied thoughtfully. “Let’s just let him have his rest for a bit before we get too hasty, here.”

He was taken to another room, arms around him to keep him steady as he struggled with one step after the other. It got easier with practice; soon, the scientists took their arms away entirely, letting him walk on his own as they arrived at their destination. He’d never physically _seen_ these things before, but he could recall these concepts being given to him through the tube. There was a bed, dresser, and closet, along with a toilet, sink, and shower. So, a bedroom—but also a bathroom? They could put those things together? He found himself laughing a little bit at the absurdity of it. A bathroom _and_ a bedroom. How weird.

He was sat down on the bed, and one of the scientists held something out to him. He stared at it for a long moment. It was orange and folded over; once he accepted it with shaky hands, he unfolded it, finding it seemed to be some sort of long gown.

“Once you feel like you can, could you put that on for me?” The scientist asked in a gentle tone. “Just take your time, though, don’t push yourself.”

He nodded slowly, taking the time to really examine it closely. The fabric was thin and soft, with strings on the sides to tie it together. The scientist left the room after that, leaving the door slightly ajar. He was alone.

After a few minutes of just sitting there, beginning to feel more comfortable, he pulled on the gown and tied it in place. It reached down well below his knees, but the sleeves weren’t very long; he pulled the blanket back on over his shoulders as he thoroughly investigated everything in the room. He turned the sink on and off a few times. He flushed the toilet as well, startled by how loud it was. There were clothes in the dresser and closet, too, and soap inside the shower. He looked into a mirror last; startled by his own reflection as well at first, he had to pause for a minute before approaching it again. His light brown hair was thin and wiry, matted down to his head from the tube water. He released the blanket with one hand to shake the moisture out of it a little bit, then took the time to stare at his reflection closely, investigating himself thoroughly. By the time he’d really checked everything in the room and turned back towards the door, he found two scientists, watching him and writing some more on clipboards.

“Recognizes his own reflection. Plus, he’s a lot quicker to observe his surroundings. No signs of aggression yet.” One of the scientists said aloud as she wrote.

“What do you wanna nickname this one?” The other asked with a playful smile on his face.

The first one snickered a little. “What was it he said? ‘Bubby’?”

“Oh, yeah! Let’s go with that.” The other replied with a laugh, writing something down. “What if this one meets the criteria to be the last, though, and his name is _Bubby?_ ”

“It doesn’t have to be his _permanent_ name.” The first one pointed out. “It’s just easier than...god, whatever number we’re on at this point.”

“H-...hey.” He interrupted.

The two scientists looked up at him in surprise.

“Oh! He spoke!” The first scientist said in awe.

“You’re...n-...naming me?” He asked them, forming the sounds carefully and deliberately.

The two scientists glanced at each other.

“Well, we just needed something to call you.” The second one said. “Did you...want to pick a name?”

He frowned. He knew of _some_ names, from people he’d been informed of in the tube. Like the American president’s name, the head of Black Mesa’s name, several more—he didn’t want to just pick something else he already heard before, though. He wanted something unique and new.

...He couldn’t think of anything else off the top of his head.

“...Bubby, is...fine.” He replied slowly.

Bubby. Bubby, Bubby, Bubby...that was what he was called, now. He had a name. He was walking independently, talking with other people—well, sort of. They mostly talked _at_ him, or _about_ him. He wasn’t necessarily on their level. The scientists spoke to each other with familiarity and comfort; they spoke to him like he was...

He couldn’t put that into words, actually, beyond simply feeling different.

He was...a person, though, he thought. He knew of things that were people, and things that weren’t people. He stood on two legs, he spoke, and he looked the same as everyone else who talked to him. Humans weren’t typically born like this, though; it came together very quickly, as Bubby was directed to lie down on what he understood as a medical table, that he was some sort of science experiment.

He wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Was there any way _to_ feel about it?

They checked over his body extensively and asked him to do things to gauge his abilities—both regular cognitive things, like checking general body strength and reflexes, and superhuman abilities alike. The superhuman abilities were fun to play with, he thought as he was directed to set some things on fire for them.

He was a science experiment—not fully human, but something to be studied. He was something special, wasn’t he? He thought while the scientists around him took extensive notes. He was providing them something valuable, somehow, just by existing. Bubby was proud of himself, he thought as he completed more tests to impress the scientists. Hardly a few hours out of the tube, and he was already providing so much more to the scientific community, displaying so many more abilities than any other human presumably on this planet. He was something to be reveled in and amazed by.

There was one thing, though, that he seemed to be lacking in. He sat in a chair, squinting at a board at the end of the room with a series of letters on it, progressively getting smaller with each row. He’d been asked to read off the board, but after a certain point, the letters became a blurred mess.

“This one’s got issues with eyesight, too.” One of those scientists said as she noted it down. “You think that’ll be enough to have to start over again?”

“Jesus, I hope not.” Another one huffed. “This one’s got everything else. I’m sure he’ll overlook it. I mean, it’s not like 20/20 eyesight is so important. His behavior is the mellowest we’ve gotten while maintaining the powers! I think we might be in the clear at this point.”

“It’s too early to say, still.” A different scientist reminded them. “Just pick him up one of the prototypes’ spare glasses for now, we’ll get the proper prescription in order for him later after we’ve presented the results.”

“...Prototypes?” Bubby asked them.

He’d tried to ask a couple questions before, but just like those other times, he was ignored; the scientists just moved on, and he was directed to more tasks to measure his abilities. A few minutes later, one of the scientists who had briskly left the room returned, handing him a pair of thick glasses. Bubby accepted them gingerly, slowly unfolding them and placing them on his face, the way he saw other scientists with glasses wore them.

“Whoa.” He murmured, looking around curiously. He’d been shocked by how sharp and clear everything was before right after leaving the tube; this was on an entirely new level, now. He could see things well beyond his own outstretched hand this time.

“We should save the rest of the tests for tomorrow.” The same scientist said, looking at his wristwatch. “Don’t wanna overwork him like the others right off the bat. I’d rather take things slow with him.”

The other scientists nodded in agreement.

“We wanna do the same thing as always?” Another one asked with a smile.

“Yeah, I sent Carl out already.” The first one said, returning the other scientist’s smile.

“...Do what?” Bubby asked.

“Just a little something we like to do for everyone’s first day out of the tube.” A scientist finally answered, patting his back. Bubby jumped in shock at the contact, but that elicited no response from the scientist.

Bubby was directed to another part of the lab, where he was asked to sit down in a rolling office chair at a long table surrounded by other chairs. There was what he eventually recognized as a projector in the middle of the table; another scientist fiddled with it as they seemed to be waiting for something. Probably “Carl”. Bubby watched the others carefully as they chatted to one another. They talked about things outside the lab; one of them had a kid. Another talked about other people he must have known outside the lab. Bubby’s mind began to wander as he imagined the larger scope of where he was. He understood faintly that he was in New Mexico, in America, on Earth. He wasn’t sure what city—then again, he didn’t know the names of many cities yet. How big was this lab? What was _outside_ the lab? When would he be allowed to see it?

Soon, the door to the little room they were in opened, and a couple people entered with a few brown bags, a tray of paper cups, and something covered on another tray. Bubby watched them curiously, depositing everything on the table and beginning to distribute items to everyone. They set out a cup and something wrapped in paper in front of Bubby. He watched the others carefully; they unwrapped the paper, revealing hamburgers underneath, so Bubby did the same.

He’d never physically eaten anything before. He wasn’t too sure about the experience at first; it felt weird, but the taste was interesting, at least. He couldn’t get much of it down, but the drink was okay—he was told it was Sprite. He liked that it was bubbly; it was a fascinating feeling in his throat he’d never experienced before. After a few minutes, the other tray was uncovered, revealing a chocolate cake.

He hadn’t really processed this before, but as they began to sing at him, he realized it must be his birthday. It was the day he was born after all, so logically, of course it was his birthday. He tried the cake before they finished the song, uncertain what he was meant to do while they sang anyway, and immediately crinkled his nose at it. It was _much_ too sweet, especially after he’d already tried about three bites of a burger. The scientists laughed at him for it.

They put on a movie after that, using the projector. He hadn’t seen a movie before, so he didn’t have anything else to compare it to to judge its quality. All he knew was it was _long._ It dragged out longer than he really cared to pay attention to, but there wasn’t anything else for him to do in the room, so he suffered through it until the credits.

“I’ve got a really good feeling about this one.” One of the scientists said as Bubby was directed to stand and follow them.

“Yeah! Me too.” Another said enthusiastically.

Bubby was taken back to that bedroom/bathroom he’d been in before. He paused out in the hallway, though, looking out at the rows of other doors. There were a couple of other scientists at a door very close by, actually; one of them seemed to be trying to corral the other, who was hunched over and snarling. That didn’t seem like something humans ordinarily did, Bubby thought to himself. The snarling scientist snapped suddenly, shoving the other one over and whirling around. He wore glasses, like Bubby. He was about Bubby’s height, too, he assessed as he approached with his fingers hooked into claws.

“Oh, shit!” One of the scientists by Bubby’s side shouted.

They began running, but Bubby remained still, uncertain what to make of this situation. The scientist Bubby’s height lunged forward suddenly, grasping Bubby tightly by his upper arms and pushing him down to the ground. He landed hard on his back, knocking the air out of his lungs as the scientist his height pinned him down.

“Holy shit, get security!” Someone shouted as Bubby stared wide-eyed at the scientist pinning him down.

The scientist on top of him snarled again before leaning in with bared teeth. Bubby struggled against him, successfully managing to roll them both over and pin him down himself so he couldn’t bite him.

“Help me!” Bubby yelled as all the other scientists backed off.

He was left to fend for himself, struggling to keep the aggressive scientist from hurting him too badly before someone decidedly _not_ a scientist approached suddenly. He wore an all blue and black uniform, no lab coat, but instead some sort of bulletproof vest and helmet. A security guard? The guard was quickly followed by another, who each took hold of the aggressive scientist and restrained him. Another scientist finally approached once he was off Bubby, producing a syringe full of a liquid Bubby couldn’t discern. He jabbed the aggressive scientist in the upper arm, and slowly but surely, his movements grew sluggish until he went entirely limp.

“What the _fuck_ was that?!” Bubby demanded.

The aggressive scientist was dragged off to the room he’d originally been nearby as another scientist helped Bubby up.

“That was one of the prototypes.” She explained as she nudged Bubby towards the room they were sending him to moments ago. “He’s like...uhh, let’s say...he’s like one of your brothers. You have a lot of them.”

Bubby stared at her incredulously as she nudged past him, opening up one of the drawers and pulling out some of the clothes he’d found in there earlier.

“Why the fuck would he _attack_ me?” Bubby questioned.

“Well, not all of them have had the behavior we were aiming for.” She replied hastily, setting the collection of folded clothes on top of the dresser. “Go ahead and get ready for bed, you’ve had a long day.”

“Oh.” Bubby muttered, approaching the clothes to pick them up. “...Okay.”

The scientist left after that, closing the door firmly behind her. Bubby changed into the clothes she’d set out; they were more restrictive, but comfortable, more akin to the clothes the scientists wore. He approached the door curiously, intent to ask questions about the prototypes. As he set his hand down on the doorhandle and pushed, though, he found it stuck.

Bubby rattled the doorhandle a few times.

“Hello?” He called, hitting the door with his open palm in the hopes someone would hear him. “The door is stuck!”

When he received no response, Bubby tried the handle a few more times before a realization hit him. It wasn’t _stuck._ It was _locked._

As he rattled it some more, panic starting to rise in his stomach all over again, he strained to hear anybody outside the door. Rather than the voices of other scientists he’d been speaking to all day, he heard other, more imposing noises: snarling, scrabbling at the walls, shouting in voices all too similar to his own.

“Hey!” Bubby shouted aggressively, pulling on the door. “Let me out!”

Bubby tried for a long time to force the door open as the air around him seemed to constrict him, but none of his efforts paid off. He stumbled backwards, breathing hard and fumbling for the blanket on his bed. It was thin and rough on his skin, but at least it was _something._ He crawled into the bed, curling up and throwing the blanket over his head, pressing his palms to his ears in a desperate attempt to block out the sounds of the others—all presumably locked away, just like him.

****

Bubby did his best to keep his breath steady as he knelt down in front of the doorhandle on his door. In recent years, he’d mostly attempted brute force to get out; he’d discovered that it was actually fairly easy to break out that way. Using superhuman strength or fire, he could force it open, but that just presented the problem of security immediately showing up and sedating him before dragging him off to another, fully intact room behind a locked door.

He needed something subtler. He had learned a lot in his time in the lab, none fully pertaining to the mechanics of locks, but it wasn’t too difficult to deduce how they worked. Keys always had unique patterns, and when he stuck things into the lock on his door, he could feel something shifting inside. It took a few nights, many attempts, and many little objects stolen throughout the day when he was allowed outside the room, but _finally,_ Bubby was rewarded with an unlocked door.

Slowly, Bubby pushed the handle down and pulled his door open as quietly as he could manage. He peered out the door, ignoring the sounds of the prototypes all struggling in their rooms—that had honestly become meaningless background noise to him at this point. There _was_ a guard sat in a chair at the start of the hallway; Bubby immediately jerked back at the sight of him, but when he heard no movement, he peered back out.

That guard was asleep, he assessed, arms crossed and head tilted forward as he snored lightly. Bubby let out a quiet breath of relief, stepping out and closing the door quietly behind him. He tiptoed right past the guard, searching for more movement in the low light of the lab cautiously.

He knew from too much experience how well-guarded the biological research department was. With how aggressive the prototypes were, and how much of a secret this whole operation was, they were intent to make sure nobody got in or out without their permission; however, this was a very special night. Christmas night, actually. Bubby knew staff would be reduced, increasing his chances of sneaking undetected to what he understood as the main door out of the lab. He pressed himself against a wall and stood as still as possible as another guard passed on the other end of the room, exhaling slowly as he disappeared around the corner.

His luck, as he anticipated, ran out once he got to that main door. It was guarded at all times, and this particular guard happened to be awake. He was _so close,_ though—he could probably intimidate and brute force this one, then run like hell as soon as he got the door open.

Bubby made his presence known by setting the door on fire. _That’d_ give them hell to replace, he thought triumphantly as the guard leapt back with a surprised shout, making eye contact with Bubby. Bubby set his fingers to his temple threateningly, enjoying the way the guard put his hands up and stepped aside.

Bubby crashed through the door as he began to hear more guards shouting. He paid no mind to the way his clothes caught fire from contact with the burning door, only hastily picking a random direction and starting to sprint with every ounce of his power. He quickly found it wasn’t ideal to use his superspeed for running on linoleum floors in socks—after a harsh collision with a wall, he risked slowing down, running down random hallways as he listened to guards shouting behind him.

He was going to have to act fast, he thought, if he was going to be able to figure out how to get out of this labyrinth of a fucking facility. He tried the first door he passed, relieved to find it was unlocked. He shoved his way inside and closed it hastily, finding himself in a small, dark room. Struggling to breathe quietly, Bubby felt around, determining he must be in some sort of closet. He shuffled as far back into the closet as he could, shoving himself behind a cart and closing his eyes tight.

Bubby only allowed himself to breathe when he heard footsteps go past the door, shouting down the halls as if they’d find him ahead of them. He breathed out a quiet sigh of relief, waiting a few more minutes before pushing his way back to the door and opening it quietly. Cautiously, Bubby began hurrying down the opposite hall.

Although the amount of guards on staff was significantly lessened, that didn’t mean he was in the clear already. As he started to round a corner, he heard discussion on radios, guards from the biological research department putting out a description of Bubby in order to be captured if seen. Bubby braced himself and stepped out from around the corner, shaking himself out to prepare himself to use all his strength in order to escape.

Finally, after tearing through whatever guards that tried to stop him, Bubby was rewarded the sight of a set of double glass doors at the end of a massive lobby. He let out a breathless laugh of amazed disbelief as he took a moment to stand in front of it, _knowing_ guards would be behind him, but unable to move for a moment. He glanced behind himself, then took the final few steps forward, placing his hand on the bar and pushing it open.

The metal of the bar had been cold against his palm, but the air outside was even colder. He gasped in surprise as a freezing breeze engulfed him, as if encouraging him to go back inside. He took another step outside, though. Then another. He was _out,_ but not quite safe, yet. He’d have to start running in order to put distance between himself and the facility. He stared out at the horizon, breath hitching as he crossed his arms over his chest and shivered.

Bubby had never been outside before. It smelled different, and it was so...

So...

_Empty._

In the darkness, he couldn’t see much beyond him; it just gave off the appearance of an endless expanse in front of him. Absolutely no walls, nothing to give him any frame of reference for where he was, should go, or could be. As if he could just start walking and get lost in the emptiness, never able to find his way back to familiarity.

That openness around him started to feel palpable as he found his legs frozen. He took in one sharp breath after another, heart beginning to race, chest beginning to ache. He tried to push one foot in front of the other, but they were stiff from the cold and the panic; he ended up on the ground, palms pressed into the harsh dirt beneath him. He gritted his teeth as he heard the doors opening behind him, unforgiving voices shouting his name, demanding he stay still.

What was he going to do, anyway? Just walk out, unsure where to go, and probably die in the desert? He slowly put his hands up in defeat, frustrated as he felt a pinch in his upper arm.

“I’m fucking surrendering!” Bubby snapped.

The guards didn’t listen; they sedated him anyway, and he felt himself drifting off as they took him under his arms and started to drag him back into the facility.

****

“A _dorm?_ ”

Bubby gave the man sat in front of him a curt nod. This man was new around here—the previous administrator of Black Mesa had stepped down to retire, leaving him now with Dr. Wallace Breen. He didn’t particularly like the old administrator, but Dr. Breen was turning out to be a whole other story. At least the _old_ administrator had formed some sort of weird bond with Bubby, and although took no action to help him, still at least gave him _some_ comforts within the biological research department. Breen, on the other hand, was condescending, and thought of himself as above everyone else in every possible infuriating way. Worst of all, he only ever looked at Bubby with cold, detached fascination, like he was a very interesting bug. 

He was used to all of that by this point, though, from anyone that knew who he truly was. In fact, it felt stranger when he’d first been allowed out of the biological research department officially and met someone new, who saw him as a peer rather than a subject for the first time in his life. _This,_ with Dr. Breen, was a comfortable sort of frustration he’d built up such a tolerance to over the span of his life. Everything else was new and unknown, strange and uncomfortable. He truly had no idea how to interact with _peers._

He was intent to learn, though.

“Why on Earth would I allow you to live in the dormitories, Bubby?” Dr. Breen questioned. “This just seems like a recipe for disaster. Surely, you’d use the opportunity to escape, wouldn’t you?”

“When was my last escape attempt, Breen?” Bubby questioned, crossing his arms.

Dr. Breen paused. “...I suppose it _has_ been a while.”

“Right. If by ‘a while’, you mean seven years ago.” Bubby scoffed. “I’ve found I have no reason to escape, with the work that I’m allowed to do here. I like the research. I _know_ I wouldn’t survive out there—it’s not like I’d ever find a place to work, much less work _nearly_ as interesting found here.”

Dr. Breen nodded slowly. “It _is_ good to see you finally understand that.”

“I think it brings up too many questions, if I’m always coming down here at the end of the day.” Bubby added. “Not to mention it’s _impossible_ to hear my own thoughts with all the fucking noise the prototypes make. If I lived in a dorm, I could get a lot more work done.”

Dr. Breen gave Bubby a contemplative look, putting a hand to his chin for a long few moments. “There will be restrictions if I ultimately agree to this.” He finally said. “Guards at any exit points throughout the facility in your reach will be notified not to let you out. You cannot let anybody know who you are, as always, and if I even get the _suspicion_ you’re planning an escape, I reserve the right to put you right back down here for good. Understand?”

Bubby nodded quickly; not enthusiastically, just a detached display he’d heard Dr. Breen loud and clear. “I understand.”

Bubby wasn’t intent to show Dr. Breen he was _grateful_ or thank him for any of this. He also wasn’t going to show any sign of disappointment or frustration if he ultimately said no; Dr. Breen was sort of put off by any displays of _emotion_ in him, so Bubby had to be cold and pragmatic.

He was rewarded the very next day with the announcement he’d been assigned a dorm. Bubby quickly collected all of his possessions into a box—his clothes, his books, his bedding, and his toothbrush and remaining soaps. The room was left empty by the time he was done, and he eagerly started towards the door out of the biological research department.

Bubby was pleased as the guard opened the door for him without question. He walked tall and proudly to another guard who had been directed to escort him up to the dorms; he memorized the route the best he could, and once they arrived at the door, Bubby set down his box so he could accept his key.

“Congrats on the dorm, Bubby.” The guard told him with what appeared to be a genuine smile.

“Thank you.” Bubby replied with a cool, level tone as the key was placed in his hand. With that, the guard left him alone, and Bubby just stood there in front of his door with his key for several long moments, allowing himself the time to take in the fact that this was _his_ key, for _his_ door. Finally, he slotted the key into the lock and unlocked the door.

The dorm was much bigger than his room in biological research. Just the living room itself was the size of his old room; then, he had his own kitchen, and an actual, real bedroom and bathroom (which were _separate_ from each other, no less) on top of all that. He scooped his box back up and set it down on the bare bed with a satisfied sigh.

This was _his_ space. He didn’t have much he could do to make it his own, but that didn’t quite matter to him as he unpacked everything within the hour. He _knew_ it was his. That was enough.

****

Dr. Harold Pontiff Coomer had been very shocked to hear the news that he had been accepted to work at Black Mesa. It was a massive relief, too; it took a little while to get everything in order, actually, but despite the sad faces he gave his family on his way out the door to begin his long drive, he was relieved to be getting so far away from home.

Harold’s relationship with his family was strained, to say the least; he was looking forward to leaving his shitty apartment close to his shitty parents behind, where he could finally put his degree to use. Black Mesa paid _well,_ too—they provided employee dorms, amazing benefits, good-looking employee amenities, and more. The only thing he found himself truly disappointed by was leaving behind his old boxing friends, from before he dropped his boxing career to pursue a STEM degree. Surely, though, with such a massive company, he’d find other employees who enjoyed boxing as much as he did, he thought to himself as he drove on a long stretch of open road.

After a very long, exhausting road trip, Harold finally found the massive, sprawling facility out in the distance. He checked himself in, was given a temporary badge to show he was a new employee, and was handed the keys to his new dorm, all within the span of 20 minutes. He begrudgingly took the opportunity to get all his belongings he had been able to fit in his car into his new dorm. He left all the boxes taped up and pushed to the side, but he was careful with his plants he’d taken along with him, setting them out on the desk provided to him and hooking up the sunlamps he had purchased to keep them happy. Once he’d made sure they were secure and cared for, Harold finally collapsed into his new bed for a nap.

He’d been hired on to work for a very small branch of a larger department in Black Mesa; as he understood from the job description, he’d been assigned to work with only one other person until the needs of the department were met, then he’d likely get moved up to the larger department proper. Harold wondered what his lab partner would be like. Certainly, they wouldn’t want two newbies in a two-person department; they’d probably be a Black Mesa senior, he contemplated. That would be nice. He wasn’t eager to fumble his way through tests with little to no idea what Black Mesa’s policy or standards were, no matter how confident he was he knew what he was doing, scientifically speaking.

First, though, he had new employee orientation, which consisted of long training videos on Black Mesa policy, long tours of the massive facility, and lots of safety agreements. Once the orientation was finally done, Harold walked right back to his dorm, taking the time to finally get all his belongings out of boxes and organized carefully. He looked at his dorm from the entryway once he’d finished, admiring his new living space with a smile. Everything he’d done up to this point—dropping boxing, going to through the hell of university, everything—was finally paying off.

Finally, Harold’s much anticipated first day of work arrived. He sat on the tram with a box of office supplies and other things to organize into his new desk, tapping his foot impatiently as he waited for the announcement they’d arrived at Sector C. At the announcement, Harold hopped off the train, searching carefully for the office he’d been assigned to, which he’d been told was just down the hall from the lab they’d be working in.

Harold had expected to have to struggle unlocking the door with the box in his hands, but he was surprised to find the door already propped slightly ajar. He nudged it open with his shoulder, facing who was, apparently, his new lab partner.

“Ah! Good morning!” Harold greeted with a smile.

His lab partner looked up. He wore thick glasses, his lab coat draped over the back of his chair and his sleeves rolled up a little as he worked on something. His hair was cropped short sort of messily, and starting to recede a little at the top of his head; for a moment, Harold wasn’t sure he could place how old he was—he settled on the fact that he seemed to be about his own age, but just looked strangely old for a man in his 30’s. When he stood up, he found him short—about his own height, actually—but very thin, as opposed to Harold.

“Oh. Are you my new lab partner?” The man asked.

“That seems to be the case!” Harold replied politely, stepping inside to place his box on top of the empty desk to the side of the room. He approached the man after that, holding out his hand. “I’m Harold.”

“Dr....?” He asked, not moving to shake his hand.

“Oh—Dr. Coomer.” He answered with an amused laugh as he put his hand down. “And you are...?”

“Dr. Bubby.” He said curtly.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Dr. Bubby! I look forward to working with you.” Harold told him with a kind smile.

Dr. Bubby gave him a strange look as he nodded. “Uhh...same.”

Harold found, as the days wore on, Bubby was a very strange man. He didn’t talk much about himself, but the tiniest mannerisms he displayed spoke volumes to Harold. He said and did weird things with such full confidence, Harold felt like he had to take a moment and wonder just how weird it _actually_ was. He wasn’t necessarily _nice,_ either. Not needlessly cruel or anything, but a little impatient, blunt, and most certainly didn’t let their supervisor talk down to him. Harold wasn’t too put off by all of this; he liked the way Bubby’s mannerisms and no-nonsense attitude broke through the monotony of their job.

There was one other thing Harold wasn’t sure about, though. It wasn’t something he would ever consider just _asking_ outright unless they were actually friends, but being a trans, bisexual man growing up in a small town, he couldn’t help but search his new work community for those who might be similar to him. If he was getting vibes from _anyone_ he’d met in Black Mesa so far, it was most certainly, one hundred percent Bubby. It was, at first, just something about the way he carried himself. That wouldn’t be enough for Harold to try and break the ice between them and actually look to him for solidarity, though; he needed something more _definitive_ before he admitted to such a close coworker he was bi, let alone trans.

He got what he considered to be his proof when they were taking some downtime in the morning to discuss a movie. Bubby never talked about his personal life, but he _did_ talk about science, books, and movies he watched, so those were easy topics to use to break through his shell a little bit.

“I’m not saying anything about his actual acting ability or anything. He did _fine._ ” Bubby said, putting his hands up defensively. “I’m only saying it just didn’t make sense to cast Keir Dullea as Dave. He just didn’t look right for it.”

“Well, how do you suppose he _should_ look?” Harold asked him with an amused smile.

“I don’t know, uhhh...” Bubby paused, putting a hand to his chin as he thought about it. “Gregory Peck, maybe?”

“ _Gregory Peck?_ ” Harold asked incredulously. “He hardly looks like a scientist! I haven’t seen Space Odyssey in a while, but I thought he was just...you know, fine.”

“ _You_ hardly look like a scientist either, Dr. Coomer.” Bubby huffed defensively.

Harold snickered, though honestly, he wasn’t sure how to take that comment in this context.

“Plus, I mean—there you go. He was _fine._ ” Bubby went on, as if there wasn’t any possible connotation to what he said whatsoever. “He just sort of has a forgettable face.”

“Ah, but you’ve committed Gregory Peck to memory, have you?” Harold commented teasingly.

Bubby didn’t look particularly taken off guard or flustered by that. He only shrugged. “I’m only saying he’s _distinctive._ ”

Okay, Harold thought—Bubby only ever got so opinionated on male actors like this, and never _once_ made any strange comments whenever Harold gave his opinion on the appearance of other men. Either he was the most extremely metrosexual man Harold would ever meet in his life, and was comfortable enough in that to talk about men like this with Harold, or he absolutely _had_ to be gay.

Harold decided to take a chance, leaning against his desk as Bubby sipped his coffee.

“I don’t know, honestly. As a bi man, I thought Keir Dullea was pretty cute as Dave.” He commented, heart racing. Honestly, Bubby was right, he couldn’t even really remember what he looked like; it was just his best opportunity in the moment to come out _casually,_ without making it a whole thing.

Bubby hardly batted an eye at that—in fact, he only rolled them. “ _Cute._ Right. Well, congratulations, Dr. Coomer, I think I can officially say you have bad taste.”

Harold couldn’t help but burst out laughing at that. For the remainder of their conversation before they had to get to work, Bubby never made any comments about his own sexuality; some part of Harold nagged that he couldn’t be _absolutely_ sure until he said it outright. Then again, with how comfortable and casual he was this entire conversation, he couldn’t help but think that was evidence enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shoutout to my friend who told me to say gregory peck because i live under a rock and didn't know what other actors to use for that conversation
> 
> also OKAY this note here is just an explanation on some of the general choices i made in what ultimately led to me rewriting this fanfic.
> 
> what i wrote initially was very stream of consciousness, random scenes i wanted to write while i was feeling kinda shitty about something that doesn't need explanation lol. so some of the choices i made ultimately ended up playing into some shitty fandom tropes that looking back on, i really didn't want to play into at all. it felt oddly punishing towards dr. coomer with his ex-wife, and i just wasn't happy ultimately with how i ended up writing his ex-wife. plus, i wrote a God Damn Love Triangle! what the fuck!! so i made coomer/ex wife relationship less abusive and more just generally displaying their conflict of interests, and also made it less love-triangle and went harder on the fact that they just couldn't be together, anyway.
> 
> my original intent in writing coomer's relationship that way was, in part, to create something of a balance between him and bubby, narratively speaking--but wow, i went REALLY hard on coomer's end, and a lot of bubby's struggles got super sidelined. so i tried to balance that out a little more as well by adding more scenes on bubby's experiences with black mesa.
> 
> lastly, one thing that i originally was writing the fic for was for the potential of displaying a headcanon of mine about bubby's rejection sensitive dysphoria. but while i was in the thick of feeling some big RSD myself (lol) i ended up making those scenes showing that really overblown and needlessly dramatic. it was just...too vent-y and not really that good imo. i ended up making his rsd scenes less dramatic but nonetheless still painful on bubby's end.
> 
> plus i changed bubby's view on his sexuality for a while, just because i really didn't expand on the potential of him not realizing he's gay and i thought it'd be fun to add that little bit in there.
> 
> i think that's it.....anyways good luck in here the fic is even longer now!


	2. Chapter 2

“Ah, 6 o’clock!” Dr. Coomer announced, right on the dot as always.

Bubby stared down at the pages scattered over his desk, chewing on his pen as he tried to keep Coomer’s chatter from interrupting his train of thought. “Mm-hmm.” He muttered.

Dr. Coomer’s chair scraped against the tile as he scooted back, approaching Bubby’s desk eagerly. “Dr. Bubby, would you care to join me back to the dormitories?”

Bubby let out a quiet, annoyed breath. His newest lab partner was nothing if not persistent—just a couple weeks after they started working together, this had become their evening routine. If being stuck in an office together for the majority of the day wasn’t enough, Dr. Coomer was determined to spend every other waking second with him as well. Joining him on the tram to the labs, sitting with him during his lunch, wanting to go back to the dorms together—Bubby was fairly certain Dr. Coomer would pay good money to have them surgically joined at the hip while Bubby slept. He glanced up at Dr. Coomer, that same kind, lopsided, goofy smile on his face as every other evening. A feeling Bubby was absolutely certain must have been irritation stirred in his chest, and he tore his eyes away to look back down at his work.

“I’m busy.” He replied tersely, just like always.

Usually, Dr. Coomer would take the hint and leave, allowing Bubby some quiet time to get some real work done for a few hours before heading back to his dorm to sleep. Bubby stared intently at a spot of stray ink on his paper, waiting for Dr. Coomer to say goodnight and be on his way, but he just stood there. Bubby risked another glance up at him after a few awkward seconds. Dr. Coomer still smiled down at him, but there was a hint of something else in his expression this time—what was that, pity? Bubby’s stomach churned a little bit at the thought.

“Now, Dr. Bubby, I know you’re an excellent scientist dedicated to the pursuit of science, but...” Dr. Coomer paused, running a hand through his near shoulder-length hair. “Well, it’s a Friday evening. And there’s supposed to be a meteor shower tonight. I had somewhat hoped we could...well...watch it together, if you’d like?”

Bubby stared at him. “...Together?”

Dr. Coomer grinned. “Yes! I got wine and snacks! I thought we could go sit just outside the dormitories.”

Bubby blinked, then looked back down at his work. Then he looked up at Dr. Coomer again, the gears in his head grinding to a stop. Dr. Coomer was twirling his dark brown hair streaked with gray in his fingers, looking down at Bubby expectantly. Bubby opened his mouth, prepared by instinct to say no.

“...Okay.” He said instead.

Bubby hardly had a moment to question himself or regret his decision before Dr. Coomer’s face split into a wide, bubbly smile. Bubby felt dizzy looking at him, but he stood all the same, packing away his work into his folder and trying desperately not to look at Dr. Coomer as he immediately began to prattle on about the meteor shower. He was going to miss out on so much valuable work time by just sitting around watching lights in the sky, he lamented silently as he followed Dr. Coomer to the tram.

There was a little bit of time to kill before the meteor shower, so Dr. Coomer directed Bubby to head on outside without him whenever he was ready while he gathered the promised snacks. Bubby dropped his things off in his dorm, pausing at the front door. He rarely had any reason to even step outside at all—within the Black Mesa facility’s property, of course. Maybe that was why his heart was pounding. Whether it was excitement or anxiety, Bubby couldn’t tell, but if it was outside of his comfort zone...

Bubby gathered himself and headed for the exit of the dormitories, eyeing the security guard there uneasily. Each time he had to go outside, he had to be supervised—which usually wasn’t an issue if he was just heading between buildings, but this could be another story. He glanced behind himself to be sure Dr. Coomer hadn’t arrived yet before he approached the guard, who looked at Bubby knowingly.

“I, uh, was going to watch the meteor shower.” Bubby announced to him.

“Do you have clearance?” The guard asked him.

“No, but I’m literally just going to be right outside.” Bubby argued, indicating towards the door irritably. “It’s not like I’d have anywhere to fucking go if I ran off, we’re in the middle of the goddamn desert!”

The guard quirked his eyebrow, giving him an unsympathetic look. “Look, man, I was just told you can only go outside if you have clearance and an escort.”

Bubby huffed. “I’m going to be out there with my lab partner, Dr. Harold Coomer. _He’ll_ ‘escort’ me.”

“And he gave you clearance to be out there?”

Bubby paused. “...Yes, he did.”

The guard shrugged, picking up the magazine he’d been reading. “Alright, just wait here for him, then.”

Bubby scoffed and leaned against the wall across from the desk the guard was sat at, crossing his arms and tapping his foot impatiently. Soon enough, Dr. Coomer came bustling into the lobby, carrying a brown paper bag close to his chest. He looked at Bubby with a kind smile.

“Dr. Bubby! You didn’t have to wait here for me.” Dr. Coomer said, placing a hand on Bubby’s shoulder. Bubby’s whole body tensed at the contact, and Dr. Coomer seemed quick to notice, pulling away and wrapping it back around the paper bag.

“W-well, whatever, let’s go.” Bubby grumbled, casting the guard a nervous glance as he headed for the door. He heard no objections as he pushed it open, greeted by the warm spring air and the sound of crickets. Dr. Coomer was close behind, immediately taking the lead to some spot he must have already picked out. Bubby looked on in surprise as Dr. Coomer took him behind a formation of rocks, where he seemed to have preemptively set out some old lawn chairs.

“Here, do you want some wine?” Dr. Coomer offered as he set down the bag on one of the chairs.

“I—sure.” Bubby muttered as he eased himself down into the second chair.

Dr. Coomer poured a generous helping of Moscato into a plastic wine glass, holding it out to Bubby. Bubby reached for it, attempting to take it carefully to avoid contact with Dr. Coomer, but their fingers brushed against each other despite his efforts. It felt almost like an electric shock up his arm. He didn’t jerk back, though—he pulled back gently, avoiding Dr. Coomer’s gaze as he took a small sip.

“So...Dr. Bubby.” Dr. Coomer said as he poured himself a glass, settling down into his chair. “How long have you been with Black Mesa?”

Bubby frowned, taking a deep sip of his wine. “...A while.”

Dr. Coomer hardly missed a beat. “What school did you study at, then?”

“It was...I...” Bubby looked away evasively, floundering for a moment before giving up on finding some satisfactory answer. “Where did _you_ study?”

“...I studied in Canada.” Dr. Coomer replied. “I just moved to America fairly recently to work here at Black Mesa.”

“...Hm.”

There was a brief awkward pause as the two sipped their wine.

“...Have you ever been to Canada?” Dr. Coomer asked.

“Uhh...no.”

Another silence settled over them before Dr. Coomer started going on about some old college stories. Bubby stared up at the sky as he spoke, watching the last hints of sun slowly disappear over the horizon and drinking his wine quietly. Just as he finished his glass, Dr. Coomer poured him a second one while he talked. Bubby’s attention drifted between Dr. Coomer’s stories and the sensations of being outdoors. There were so many stars—he couldn’t even remember the last time he went out after dark, and whenever that must have been, he was surely too busy to even look up. It was sort of dizzying to look at, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away. All his work centered on space in some way or another, and yet he never really just took a moment to appreciate it. It was getting a little bit chillier as the last traces of sunlight faded away; it bothered Bubby quite a lot, but the wine helped warm him just enough to remain resolute. Soon, Dr. Coomer stopped, pointing eagerly up at the sky.

“Look, Bubby, I think I saw one!” He said excitedly. Bubby stared up intently, waiting impatiently until he saw a split-second streak of light.

“Whoa.” Bubby breathed.

The two of them fell into silence as they watched meteors rush by, until they were fairly certain all of the meteors they would be able to see were long gone. Dr. Coomer let out a contented sigh before knocking back the remaining wine in his cup and setting it carefully back into his paper bag, along with the mostly empty bottle of wine.

“Thank you for joining me tonight, Bubby.” Dr. Coomer said with a kind smile.

Bubby stared at him for a long moment. Maybe it was just because he was surely drunk by this point, but something inside him ached at the idea of them parting ways for the night—no, for the whole weekend. He held out his empty cup to him, which Dr. Coomer accepted gently—this time, seemingly deliberately brushing his fingers over Bubby’s. The two of them lingered that way for a long moment, just reveling in the touch before Dr. Coomer finally took the cup from Bubby. Bubby cleared his throat and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Next time, we better not do anything when it’s so goddamn cold.” He grumbled.

Dr. Coomer snorted. “Yes, next time we can do something warmer, if you’d like.”

Bubby’s voice caught in his throat when he realized his mistake. He wanted to hurriedly retract his statement about a _next time,_ but he simply couldn’t find the words as Dr. Coomer collected himself and stood. Bubby quickly followed suit, keeping close to Dr. Coomer as they headed back into Black Mesa. Once inside, they followed each other for a little while down a hallway until they both began to turn in opposite directions at a fork in the hallway.

“Oh.” Bubby muttered. “I...I’ll see you on Monday, Dr. Coomer.”

Dr. Coomer nodded with an enthusiastic grin. “See you Monday, Dr. Bubby!”

Bubby watched as Dr. Coomer headed down the hall until he disappeared around another corner. He gripped the fabric of his shirt over his stomach and headed back towards his own dorm. Maybe...maybe Dr. Coomer wasn’t quite so annoying after all.

****

Harold had always been the type to develop crushes rather quickly; Bubby, though, he knew in particular seemed special. He mostly kept to himself, and was sort of snippy with coworkers, but showed fascinating bursts of extreme confidence that Harold couldn’t help but cling to. Not only that, but Harold couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away in quiet moments Bubby didn’t seem to think anybody noticed. The ways he drummed his fingers rhythmically on the desk or chewed on his pen when he was deeply focused, the way he carried himself tall with his chest puffed out while he talked to others but slumped down into a smaller, more reserved posture whenever they turned away—not seemingly out of self-consciousness, even, but a clear display of the front he seemed intent on putting up for others. Harold took note of it when nobody else seemed willing to.

Bubby had a way of talking quite a bit when Harold got him started on something he was interested in, but made so little of his private life known. Harold wanted to know more about him—and he seemed to start to crack through his shell the night he took Bubby out to stargaze. What he saw of Bubby’s fascinated expression as they watched meteors go by was so, _so_ cute to Harold; it had been like just that single night, watching the stars, had changed so much about the way Bubby viewed the world. Someone so easily impressed by the stars was a man after Harold’s own heart.

Harold knew he wasn’t necessarily _subtle._ Past crushes in his life had been made painfully obvious by his tendency to really go out of his way for them, before he even had the chance to think about the repercussions—he just wasn’t one to conceal his positive emotions. How could he, when he was so enamored by Bubby’s pleased expression whenever he did something nice?

So, even as they got closer, Harold wanted to take things further. They only really saw each other at work or on the tram, so Harold decided on the next logical step. He woke up a little early that morning, quickly tossing some things into a crockpot to cook while he worked before heading off to the lab. Bubby wasn’t at the tram stop this time; Harold quickly found after becoming his lab partner that Bubby never seemed to take any days off, so he only assumed Bubby had headed in early. He went to the lab alone that morning, predictably finding Bubby already in the little break room beside their office—he’d head into the lab early a couple days out of the week, normally, but he’d always be sat at the table sipping his coffee as Harold dropped off his lunch in the fridge.

“Good morning, Dr. Coomer.” Bubby greeted politely as Harold entered the break room.

“Hello, Bubby!” Harold greeted with a wide smile.

“I made you some coffee.” Bubby pointed out as he averted his eyes, gripping his own mug a little tighter.

Harold’s heart soared as he retrieved his mug from his bag. It was a small gesture, sure, but a gesture Harold always loved nonetheless—Bubby didn’t seem to be the type of person to show grandiose signs of affection. If he was making his appreciation for someone known, it always seemed to be these little considerations, barely concealed as he always looked away and shrugged it off awkwardly. Harold found it adorable, the way his actions spoke so much louder than he seemed to realize.

“Thank you, Bubby!” Harold finally replied as he poured himself a mug. “Working early again today?”

Bubby nodded. “Couldn’t sleep.” He murmured.

“Well, you’re overworking yourself. It’s no wonder you can’t sleep.” Harold scolded gently as he sat down across from him, taking a quick sip of his coffee. “I don’t believe I’ve _ever_ seen you take a day off, other than weekends, and even _then..._ ”

“Well, I can’t just ask everything to stop for me to take a day off.” Bubby said, waving his hand dismissively.

Harold couldn’t help but snort at that. “Of course not! But everything wouldn’t grind to a halt without you, Bubby.”

“I take offense to that.” Bubby huffed, finishing off his coffee and standing up. “I’m gonna go get started. Don’t take too long.”

“Oh! Before you go.” Harold said, watching Bubby pause to look back down at him. “Well...would you like to come have dinner with me tonight? I’ve got something cooking in my crockpot.”

Bubby’s eyes widened a little, shoulders tensing. “Oh.” He said, glancing away and grasping at his tie to fiddle with. “...Okay.” He finally murmured.

“You don’t happen to have any food allergies, do you?” Harold asked.

“Huh? No, of course not.” Bubby replied, scoffing like the mere idea was ridiculous before heading back out towards the hall. “I’ll—...see you in a few.”

Harold couldn’t help but smile as he watched him go. He was _so_ weird—Harold loved that about him. He finished off his coffee quickly before rushing off to join Bubby in the lab.

They’d gotten into a pretty good groove with work; despite Bubby’s obvious sleep deprivation, they were onto some pretty interesting developments before Bubby’s desk phone rang. Bubby sighed, stepping over to pick it up.

“What?” He asked irritably.

Harold proceeded to take down some notes as Bubby listened to whoever was calling him. After a few moments, he noted through the corner of his eye that he suddenly stood up a little straighter, shoulders tensing as he listened.

“What— _now?_ ” He asked the person on the other end. “I’m kind of in the middle of something, here.”

Harold turned to him curiously as Bubby seemed to be growing increasingly impatient. He growled, tightening his grip on the phone.

“ _Fine._ ” He suddenly said through gritted teeth. “I’ll...be right down.”

Harold stared at him as he began packing up his bag, shoulders slumped down in defeat.

“Needed somewhere else?” Harold asked him.

Bubby glanced up at him, his exhaustion showing through a little more now as he finished collecting his things. “...Yeah. Sorry to leave you alone for the day.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble.” Harold replied with a comforting smile. “...Will you still be free for dinner?”

Bubby frowned, pulling the strap of his bag on over his shoulder. “Uh...possibly. I’ll try.”

Harold nodded. “Well, no worries, if you’re too busy! I can just pack up the leftovers for you.”

Bubby stared at Harold for a long moment, an indiscernible expression creeping up on his face. “O-oh, well...okay. Bye, Dr. Coomer.”

Bubby turned hastily on his heel to leave, leaving Harold alone in the lab as the door closed gently behind him. He frowned, turning back to his work as he wondered what sort of thing he’d been called to. He’d never seen him randomly called away from work like that—Bubby seemed familiar with it; whatever it was, though, he certainly didn’t seem pleased by it.

Harold went through the rest of his day alone, even returned to his dorm without Bubby. He finished up dinner, biting his lip as he sat down tentatively at his dining table. Bubby knew where Harold’s dorm was—he’d asked once so he could drop some documents off over the weekend—so he waited a little while, keeping the food hot, in the hopes that Bubby would show up.

It was only when he’d begun tentatively eating alone when he heard a knock on his door. He quickly set his fork down, standing to open the door eagerly. Bubby stood there, breathing heavily with his lab coat slung over his shoulder.

“Is it too late?” He asked breathlessly.

Harold grinned. “Of course not! Come on in.”

Harold stepped aside for him, and Bubby shuffled in, a sheepish look on his face.

“S-sorry it took so long. Things went a little later than I expected.” Bubby said tentatively.

“It’s no trouble at all! I hope you’re hungry.” Harold replied enthusiastically. He _had_ been stressing about Bubby not showing up—knowing it wasn’t necessarily his fault, but heavily disappointed by the possibility of work keeping them apart—but seeing the way Bubby clearly must have run all the way back to the dorms was making his heart flutter. He was so clearly determined to spend more time with him, even if it seemed more trouble than it was worth; Harold had to resist looking too flustered as he invited Bubby to sit down across from him.

“So, Bubby, what was it you were called to do?” Harold asked curiously.

Bubby chugged some water set out in front of him, looking away awkwardly. “I-I get called to another department sometimes. It’s...confidential.”

Harold nodded slowly. “...Well, it certainly seemed to eat up a lot of your night.”

Bubby nodded as well, picking up his fork and staring down at his food. “Yeah.” He replied simply as he drummed his free fingers on the table. Nervous? Harold wondered thoughtfully. He _did_ seem nervous back during the meteor shower.

As far as Harold could tell, Bubby didn’t seem all that close with anyone—maybe he had family or friends out on the surface, perhaps, but he certainly didn’t seem to go visit them, either. The ways he seemed to struggle with just sitting down and _talking_ to anyone did sort of speak volumes to Harold, though, combined with the way he never really seemed close with anyone he ever spoke to. On some level, Harold really didn’t want to speculate too much on that, if it wasn’t his business—but he was also sort of a nosy man, if he was going to be honest with himself.

“How was it after I left?” Bubby asked suddenly, shocking Harold out of his thoughts.

“Oh, it was fine.” Harold answered, smiling for him as he glanced up from his food. “I had to leave a little bit to do tomorrow, but it shouldn’t be too much to catch up on.”

“I suppose I could head in early again tomorrow.” Bubby said thoughtfully as he pushed his food around on his plate.

“That won’t be necessary, Bubby, we should have plenty of time.” Harold insisted. “You’ve certainly had an exhausting night, looks like. You don’t need to push yourself like that.”

Bubby looked up at Harold, getting that same expression he had before right before leaving the lab. Harold wasn’t quite sure what he must have been thinking; he seemed...strangely surprised? Conflicted? He cleared his throat awkwardly, leaning back in his chair.

“I’m not pushing myself. I’m doing a completely normal level of work.” He said dismissively. “Everyone in—...my original department...pulled more hours than me. This is nothing.”

“Bubby, you shouldn’t let Black Mesa push you into unhealthy work practices.” Harold said, putting on a slightly more stern expression. “All this overtime can’t be good for you! You’re only human.”

Bubby gave Harold a strangely dubious look, crossing his arms. “I’ll be fine, Dr. Coomer. You don’t have to get all worked up about how much time _I_ spend working.”

“I’ll get worked up about it if I want to.” Harold said with a smile, leaning his head in his palm. “Do I need to drag you out of Black Mesa just to get you to take a break for once? I don’t think I’ve _ever_ seen you leave the facility.”

Bubby averted his eyes immediately, picking up his glass to drink from for a long moment. “I don’t _need_ to leave the facility.” He finally said as he set his glass back down.

“Oh, _nonsense_ , Bubby. Of course some time off outside of Black Mesa would do you some good!” Harold said teasingly. “You know, if you’d like, we...could spend the weekend together off-site.”

Bubby frowned at that, contrary to what Harold had been hoping for. He’d sort of been riding the high of Bubby being so enthusiastic to have dinner with him when he offered—this seemed to push some sort of boundary, though, by the looks of it. Bubby turned away, crossing his arms tighter over his chest.

“Y-...you should know something.” Bubby murmured.

Harold frowned as he looked at Bubby closely. “What is it?”

Bubby drew in a deep breath, looking down at the table. “...I, uhh...I can’t leave Black Mesa.”

Harold paused, furrowing his brow. “What do you mean, Bubby?”

Bubby turned his gaze up to Harold, an intense look in his eyes. “Dr. Coomer...if I tell you this, you have to promise not to tell anyone else what I’ve said. Alright? This is confidential information.”

Harold nodded immediately. “Of course, Bubby.”

Bubby leaned back a little, sighing and reaching under his glasses to drag his palm down his face. “...I was born down here, while they were testing the artifical creation of humans. I’m not...considered a _citizen_ or anything. Technically, I belong to Black Mesa. So...as long as things stay the way they are, I’m not going to be allowed to leave.”

Harold took a moment to process this, slowly reaching across the table to Bubby. His hands weren’t on the table—that was fine, he knew Bubby seemed to have a bit of an aversion to being touched, but it was _something,_ while he lacked anything to say to him as he took this information in.

“I’m...sorry, Bubby.” Harold finally said. “Isn’t there anything that can be done? Perhaps if we talk to the administrator—”

“Dr. Coomer, I _just_ told you nobody else can know I told you this.” Bubby scolded irritably. “It’s _fine._ It’s not like it’s all bad. They let me live in the dorms now, I _do_ get paid, technically—I have some employee benefits. I’m not some sort of tragedy case.”

He turned away self-consciously as he said that, sitting up a little taller than before and squaring his shoulders. Putting up his front again, Harold thought immediately. Harold eased back, biting his lip as he tried to figure out what to say.

“Bubby, I don’t want this to come off the wrong way.” Harold said carefully. “But...are you _sure_ it’s okay?”

Bubby glanced back at him, only for a moment, before continuing to stare at the wall off to the side instead. “It’s fine. I-I only told you so you’d know. I just didn’t want to have to turn you down over and over again if you kept asking me to go outside Black Mesa. That would get annoying.”

Harold didn’t buy it. There was absolutely no way this was okay—but in this moment, as he watched Bubby grow increasingly defensive, it didn’t seem appropriate to push it. He couldn’t help the look he must have on his face, though, so heartbroken for him. How horrible, he thought, to be kept to the confines of this facility the entirety of his life. It was no wonder he was so closed off; he must have felt so alienated from his coworkers.

“...Seriously, though.” Bubby said suddenly, pushing his glasses up on his face. “Don’t...try anything. If anyone finds out I told you who I am, I might never get to see—...uhh...leave the lab again.”

He sort of faltered off at the end of that sentence, staring down at the table again. Harold nodded uncertainly.

“Of course, Bubby.” Harold murmured. After a few moments of awkward silence, Harold looked back up at Bubby. “...Perhaps instead, we could...spend the weekend together down here.”

Bubby relaxed a little, staring at Harold for a long few seconds before finally nodding. “I...okay. That sounds good.”

****

Bubby expected it to be awkward after that conversation. He’d just told Dr. Coomer highly confidential information—that he wasn’t a real human and how he’d never been outside Black Mesa before—but if Dr. Coomer felt at all strange about that, he never let it show. To Bubby’s extreme relief, they were able to continue on as normal, finding little ways to entertain themselves with their spare time. This included a little project of Dr. Coomer’s, the foundation of something _definitely_ not allowed by Black Mesa policy: an underground boxing ring in one of the old defunct lab spaces. It was really only a couple other rambunctious scientists needing something to get their adrenaline running like Dr. Coomer, but their shared energy as Bubby stepped into the room for the first time made for an intense vibe. Dr. Coomer was showing off his boxing gloves to the other scientists, his tie and lab coat removed and the sleeves of his slightly unbuttoned dress shirt rolled up to his biceps. Bubby averted his eyes immediately, looking anywhere but Dr. Coomer as he remained by the door silently.

Eventually, Dr. Coomer finally noticed Bubby’s presence and beckoned him over. Bubby shuffled into the room, fiddling with his tie now that everyone was looking at him.

“This is my lab partner, Dr. Bubby!” Dr. Coomer introduced enthusiastically.

“If you kill each other down here, I’m not doing anything about it.” Bubby grumbled, crossing his arms uncomfortably.

The group laughed at that, and after some excitable conversation, Bubby stepped to the side again and watched them get to boxing. Dr. Coomer removed his dress shirt entirely, leaving him in just the slacks, an undershirt—also having changed out of his binder in favor of a sports bra to protect his ribs—and his boxing gloves as he squared up against another scientist. For some entirely inexplicable reason, Bubby felt like he was two seconds away from catching on fire—something he hadn’t accidentally done to himself since he first got out of the tube. Did he just fucking hate boxing for some reason? The feeling that overcame him was anger, right? No, no, that wasn’t it. It was something else, a feeling he actually enjoyed. For however all-consuming it was, he could stand there forever watching Dr. Coomer, who was easily overpowering the scientist he’d just started a fight with. Once the other scientist was knocked down, everyone else began to applaud—Bubby included, perhaps much too enthusiastically—before another one stepped up for a turn against Dr. Coomer.

“Get his ass, Coomer!!” Bubby shouted aggressively.

Dr. Coomer grinned, winking at Bubby before falling into a fighting stance again. Bubby clutched his chest as that overwhelming feeling surged through him again, like it had been shot directly through his heart and now infiltrated his whole body through his bloodstream. It left him warm all over and dizzyingly excited. What _was_ that? A snicker forced its way out of him as he uncontrollably flapped his hands down at his sides. He’d _never_ done that before, but he couldn’t stop himself, now.

Soon, Dr. Coomer had won against every other scientist in their makeshift ring. The other weaker scientists insisted they were tired after Dr. Coomer demanded rematches, each slowly taking their leave until it was just Bubby and Dr. Coomer. Dr. Coomer held his boxing gloves loosely to his side, chugging a bottle of water as Bubby approached.

“I...didn’t realize how strong you were.” Bubby commented awkwardly.

Dr. Coomer beamed at him. “Oh, it felt so good to let loose again after so long! I just wish it had been more of a challenge, is all.”

Bubby tapped the tip of his shoe against the floor, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well...maybe...you could show me how to...”

He faltered at the end of his sentence, stopping entirely and looking away in embarrassment. By the time he glanced back up at Dr. Coomer, he was met by a gigantic smile as Dr. Coomer flapped excitedly.

“I would _love_ to show you how to box, Bubby!” Dr. Coomer exclaimed. He took his boxing gloves, handing them to Bubby. “Here, put these on.”

Bubby slipped them on over his hands, weighing them experimentally once they were on. The insides were gross and sweaty after Dr. Coomer’s use, and Dr. Coomer had to tighten them over Bubby’s bony wrists, but once they were on correctly, Bubby didn’t _hate_ it.

“Okay, now I want you to imagine you’re about to kick someone.” Dr. Coomer instructed. “Which leg would you use?”

“R-right?”

“Then take a step back with your right leg, like this.” Dr. Coomer said, sliding his right foot far behind him and bending his knees slightly.

Bubby copied what Dr. Coomer did, and Dr. Coomer gave him a million and one more pointers on his stance until he was satisfied with it. Then, he showed him proper punching form. Dr. Coomer provided plenty of examples as Bubby tried to perfect it, but Dr. Coomer stopped suddenly, sucking in air through his gritted teeth and drawing his arm close to his chest.

“Are you alright?” Bubby asked, placing a gloved hand on Dr. Coomer’s shoulder.

Dr. Coomer nodded, carefully extending his elbow and wincing before he relaxed again. “I’m alright, Bubby, thank you! No need to worry about me.”

“Are you sure? Maybe we should stop.”

“It’s alright! It was just a subluxation.” Dr. Coomer explained dismissively. “I’m just a little rusty. My passion for boxing and my EDS don’t always agree with one another, but it’s okay. Once I get back into the habit and my muscles get a little stronger around my joints again, it shouldn’t be so bad.”

“Well...don’t hurt yourself on my account.”

“Alright, then punch me.”

Bubby froze in surprise for a second. “Wh—”

Dr. Coomer held up his palms, facing towards Bubby like he was expecting high fives. “Come on, punch me!”

“I’m not going to punch you right after you just hurt yourself!” Bubby argued.

“I want you to punch me! Give it all you’ve got!” Dr. Coomer insisted with a massive smile.

“Alright, fine.” Bubby huffed. He clumsily slid into the stance that Dr. Coomer had showed him before throwing a few highly restrained punches into Dr. Coomer’s palms.

Just like the stance, it took a little while until Dr. Coomer was satisfied with Bubby’s efforts. Dr. Coomer congratulated him on doing so well, beginning to gather up his belongings. Bubby frowned, something screaming inside him—he couldn’t let this moment end just yet.

“Well, you could show me how to block, too.” Bubby suggested anxiously.

Dr. Coomer smiled, but he shook his head. “Well, we don’t have enough gloves, I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”

“You think you can hurt me? I’m the perfect life form!” Bubby boasted, face flushing in embarrassment the minute the words came out of his mouth. “Come on, I wanna be up to speed for the next meeting.”

Dr. Coomer snorted. “Oh, alright. Give me my gloves back, and I’ll show you more basics.”

Once Dr. Coomer’s gloves had been returned to him, the two of them fell into their stances again. He instructed Bubby to try punching him, which he blocked easily, showing him the best form for blocking straight punches. Once he was sure Bubby got it, he announced it was Bubby’s turn to try. “Now, I’m going to punch lightly, but let me know if it’s too much.”

“Pssh. Alright, if you’re a coward.” Bubby goaded.

Dr. Coomer rolled his eyes playfully and punched lightly as promised, which Bubby blocked clumsily. As he got a little better at it, Dr. Coomer began grinning, punching a little bit harder. Bubby couldn’t help but smile back—Dr. Coomer’s enthusiasm was just impossibly infectious. As he got lost in the sight of Dr. Coomer’s smile, the cogs in his brain stopped turning momentarily, just long enough for a completely expected punch to catch him off guard. The force knocked Bubby’s fist back into his own face, right into his nose. Bubby stumbled back in shock, putting a hand to his face.

“Oh, no!” Dr. Coomer blurted out, tossing his gloves aside and gently taking Bubby’s hand that covered his nose. “I’m so sorry, Bubby, I just got excited! Are you okay? Let me see.”

“I-I’m fine.” Bubby insisted as Dr. Coomer pulled his hand aside, putting his other hand to Bubby’s jaw and tilting his head to inspect the damage. Bubby’s face went hot, the feeling of just _barely_ keeping contained enough not to catch on fire returning in a flood as he looked at Dr. Coomer. All his other reassurances he had wanted to give melted away in his head.

“...Yeah, it looks okay.” Dr. Coomer assessed.

His eyes locked with Bubby’s after that, and despite the need for such close proximity having passed, he didn’t move an inch. Dr. Coomer slowly released Bubby’s hand to place it on the other side of his face. Suddenly, as Dr. Coomer’s gaze moved down to Bubby’s lips, he understood what was going on. It was abundantly clear, the way Dr. Coomer’s face flushed as he stared at him with _adoration,_ he must have _felt_ something for Bubby. This time spent with him was out of genuine desire to be around him, and real appreciation for him. Bubby clenched his fingers into fists.

“Bubby?” Dr. Coomer said.

“Yeah?” Bubby breathed.

“Can I kiss you?”

Bubby’s breath caught in his throat. Something surged in his chest, and—

There was a bright flash of light, and Dr. Coomer let out a yelp of surprise, backing away as Bubby burst into flames.

“Oh my god, Bubby, you’re on fire!” Dr. Coomer exclaimed.

“I-it’s okay!” Bubby reassured him, frantically patting his clothes to try and suffocate the flames. “It doesn’t hurt, it’ll go away in a second. Are you okay?”

Dr. Coomer scooped up a stray towel and threw it over Bubby’s head, helping pat the flames down with it. Once the last of the flames were gone, Dr. Coomer let out a deep sigh of relief.

“What _was_ that?” He questioned.

“I—I have pyrokinesis. It’s not a big deal.” Bubby huffed. “I usually have good control over it, but if I get overwhelmed...”

“Was it because I...?”

Bubby’s face felt hot again as he pushed up his glasses on his face. “M-maybe.”

Dr. Coomer let out a loud, surprised laugh. “I’m sorry, Bubby, if I’d known—”

“It’s fine!” Bubby snapped in embarrassment.

“Well...” Dr. Coomer paused, beginning to twirl his hair around his fingers anxiously. “I suppose in any case, now is as good a time as any to tell you...how I feel about you.”

“Oh, fuck.” Bubby said impulsively. “I-I know, Dr. Coomer, don’t say it or I’ll catch on fire again.”

Dr. Coomer snorted. “Okay, I won’t, then.”

A long silence fell over them as Bubby thought hard about what to say next. What _could_ he say? He didn’t know how he felt. He hadn’t even _considered_ romance as an option with Dr. Coomer for a couple of reasons. First off, he was a coworker—not that Bubby would ever meet anyone who _wasn’t_ a coworker, though, to be fair. Second off, wasn’t Bubby straight? He wondered. Maybe. He searched for anything reaffirming this fact about himself, but in the moment, he was drawing a blank. In inevitable conversations about movies during slow days at work, he certainly always dismissed actresses as “not his type” when brought up. What _was_ his type, then? Just...men? As he searched his feelings from tonight, in retrospect... _maybe..._

No, he thought, this wasn’t a train of thought he could entertain. The onset of a sexuality crisis pushed aside indefinitely, Bubby put his situation in general terms. If any coworker, gender absolutely irrelevant, confessed their feelings for him, would it _ever_ be appropriate for him to date them, considering his situation?

“...Do you...feel the same about me?” Dr. Coomer pressed gently.

“I...I can’t.” Bubby muttered.

Dr. Coomer clasped his hands in front of him, fiddling with his thumbs and nodding. “O-okay. I understand.”

A brief, awkward silence settled over them as Bubby tried to figure out what one says in this situation. No amount of TV dramas had prepared him for this, he lamented as he tapped his foot on the linoleum floor.

“I’m...sorry.” Bubby finally said, tracing his fingers along the seams on his tie. “Uhhhh...I don’t think I...”

He paused as he watched Dr. Coomer’s expression fall a little. Well, he certainly had an easier out than telling a man outright he more than likely just wasn’t into him, didn’t he?

“I—...well, uhhh, I guess the bigger issue here is that...I belong to Black Mesa.” Bubby said instead. “Even if...I mean...I wouldn’t want you to be stuck here with me, and...it’s not like we could plan for a future together down here. You deserve better than that.”

Dr. Coomer bit his lip, looking down and nodding again. “...Right. O-of course, Bubby. I get it.”

After a long, awkward silence, Dr. Coomer let out a deep sigh and picked up his shirt, throwing it back on over his shoulders. “It’s, um, getting late...”

Bubby nodded. “Right. Uh, do you want to go back to the dorms together?”

“Yes, of course!”

The walk back to the dorms was silent. The only words they exchanged at all were brief goodnights, promises to see each other Monday before they parted ways back to their own rooms. Bubby shut the door behind him and finally let out a deep, agonized sigh, rubbing his eyes underneath his glasses as he slid down against the door to sit. He liked Dr. Coomer for sure, regardless of the distinction between platonic or romantic. He certainly felt a way about him he’d never experienced with anyone before, too, but could that just be a sign of the fact that he’d never gotten this close with anyone before? Bubby dragged his palms down his face and rested his forehead on his knees.

Either way, did it really matter? He wondered. Like he’d told Dr. Coomer, regardless of his sexuality or how he felt about Dr. Coomer specifically, it wasn’t like they could do anything about it if the feeling was mutual. Bubby pushed himself up to his feet and headed to his bathroom for a shower.

Whatever his feelings were, they meant nothing. Black Mesa would always keep them apart.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: surgery; nothing actually described, just the effects afterwards

Bubby had made himself clear enough what the situation was. No matter how many times Harold fantasized about the ways they could make things work, Bubby never seemed too keen on anything that involved challenging his situation; maybe someday, Harold could ease him into the idea of fighting for his independence, but for now, perhaps it was better to leave things be. Maybe it seemed Bubby had been prepared to tell him he wasn’t into him romantically, which was fine, he asserted to himself despite the several nights he spent in deep rejection embarrassment—either way, regardless, Harold wanted nothing but the best for Bubby. He’d find a way to give him the best, in due time.

For now, he was intent to let things settle for a bit between them. Harold tried not to let himself be too awkward, but Bubby didn’t seem to have the same intent to suppress how weird he felt about the air between them, now. Harold withdrew a little bit, trying to allow Bubby space both physically and emotionally—that made sense, right? If he did things that showed he still wanted to be closer to Bubby, would he think he was disregarding his boundaries? But in spite of Harold’s best intentions, Bubby seemed tense, no matter what Harold did. That was understandable, of course; Bubby didn’t seem to know how to handle himself in this situation. Surely things would settle down, and he’d relax a little. But at the same time, with every strained conversation, Harold couldn’t help but worry he was doing something wrong in Bubby’s eyes.

Regardless, work wasn’t the best place to talk about that sort of thing. They sat together in their shared office, quietly working independently for the time being. Harold glanced up as he picked up his mug to sip at his cooling coffee, watching Bubby chew relentlessly on the end of his pen. Thinking hard about something, Harold assumed. He looked back down at his own work.

“You know...” Bubby suddenly said, tapping his fingers against his desk, “I haven’t seen you take a vacation since we became lab partners.”

Harold stared at him for a long moment, a confused smile spreading on his face. “Well, I guess not. Why?”

Bubby shrugged. “You kept telling me before I told you I can’t leave that I should take a vacation, but I’ve never seen _you_ do it. I’m used to all my lab partners packing up for one around this time of year. You have any plans?”

Harold chuckled a little, brushing his hair out of his face. “Well, I have to admit, part of me pushing you to take one was the idea we might be able to go together. I guess you’re right, though, I should probably put in a request so I can go up and visit my family soon...”

Harold sighed exhaustedly. God, his parents. Maybe he could come up with an excuse not to visit this year, he mused as he tapped his pen on his desk. Out of the corner of his eye as he thought about it, he watched Bubby stand from his desk, moving over towards Harold’s to lean against it and pick up some of their shared notes from the last test, flipping through them mindlessly.

“Do you get time off at all, Bubby?” Harold asked impulsively. “Obviously, not with the ability to _leave,_ but time at least to relax without working.”

“Hm? Yeah, I guess.” Bubby murmured. “It depends. It’s not anything I get automatically like you, but I can ask and make an argument I should get a few days off sometimes. I’m not _tortured_ down here, Dr. Coomer.”

“Bubby, I hope you realize that’s still not ideal.” Harold pointed out.

Bubby waved his hand dismissively. “Oh, whatever, you know what I mean.” He said, making a move for Harold’s coffee. He did this, sometimes, when he was feeling particularly playful—Harold grabbed the mug at the same time as Bubby, both freezing now that they played a very dangerous game near Harold’s important documents. They both stared at each other for a moment before Bubby moved to pull it away. Harold held onto it, though, pulling back on it.

“Honestly, Bubby, sometimes I think you have it out for me.” Harold joked as they carefully fought over his coffee.

“I made the coffee this morning, I have a right to steal a sip.” Bubby argued with a serious tone and face, though Harold knew better from him at this point. Bubby made a move to try and pry Harold’s hand off the handle; Harold tried to overcompensate, but the two lost their grip on it as they struggled. The mug bounced off the desk, spilling its contents over Harold’s paperwork, and rolled off to the floor, shattering instantly.

“Oh! Whoops.” Harold exclaimed with a laugh, saving his papers and moving them aside. “Well, I guess neither of us can have it, then.”

“Oh, fuck.” Bubby blurted out, staring down at the shattered mug on the floor.

“I’ll go get some paper towels.” Harold announced, shaking coffee off his hands and rushing off to the breakroom.

As he returned with a bundle of paper towels, he found Bubby knelt down, collecting the pieces of the mug. Harold set to work cleaning up the coffee on his desk first. He didn’t think much of it until he noted how long Bubby was crouched down on the floor; Harold glanced down at him as he struggled to properly soak up the coffee on his desk.

“Bubby? Are you alright?” He asked.

Bubby’s breath grew sharper as he looked up at Harold. Harold furrowed his brow as he realized he looked panicked, quickly standing from the floor and cradling the pieces of the mug.

“I-I’m sorry, I can probably fix it.” Bubby muttered quietly, his voice shaking as he investigated the pieces. “Or...I-...I guess I can’t replace it.”

Harold smiled for him on reflex. “What? Bubby, it’s fine, it’s just a mug. I have plenty in my dorm.”

“But—you always use this one.” Bubby pointed out, voice shaking a little more obviously, now as he looked anywhere but at Harold.

“Well...yeah, I suppose I do. But it’s fine.” Harold insisted, leaving the coffee alone for the moment to put his hand reassuringly on Bubby’s shoulder.

Bubby bit his lip, staring hard at Harold’s desk. Finally, after a moment, he took in a deep, shaky breath. “I-I’m sorry, ummm—l-let me...help you.”

Bubby glanced between the coffee everywhere and the mug in his hands.

“I think the mug is unsalveagable, Bubby, you can go ahead and throw it away.” Harold offered, nodding to the trash can.

Bubby gritted his teeth, something about that seeming to send another panic through him. Harold stared at him with worry.

“Bubby, are you okay?” He asked again, squeezing Bubby’s shoulder.

Bubby finally met Harold’s eye, looking heavily dismayed and panicked for a moment before hardening his expression and turning away to finally dispose of the mug.

“I-it’s fine, it’s nothing.” He muttered.

Harold watched him dump the mug in the trash can before rushing out of the office, returning shortly after with more paper towels. They worked together in silence to clean up the coffee. Once they were done, Bubby disappeared again, returning to the office with more coffee in a paper cup to place carefully on Harold’s desk.

“Here.” Bubby said quietly as he set it down, slinking off to his desk immediately after.

Harold glanced between Bubby and the paper cup before rolling his chair over to Bubby’s desk. “Bubby...” Harold started before Bubby took in another sharp breath, burying his face in his hands.

“I don’t want anything to change between us.” He blurted out, voice muffled by his hands. “Things have been so weird since I—...you know. But I don’t want you to leave, but I’m sure I’ve been so weird...”

“Oh, Bubby, I’m sorry.” Harold said gently. “I just wanted to give you space! I didn’t know if I was pushing your boundaries or not, considering...well, how I feel about you. I’m not going to _leave_ you, though.”

Bubby peered at Harold cautiously, face clearly flushing with embarrassment behind his hands. “Oh, god. Sorry, I didn’t...mean to say all that.”

Harold snickered—not unkindly, just surprised. “It’s okay, Bubby, I understand.”

“I just—...I don’t...” Bubby heaved out a deep sigh, finally exposing his face and crossing his arms tightly. “I haven’t...this is new to me. I thought for a minute...you might not want to be around me, anymore.”

He looked away as he admitted that, biting his lip as he stared down at his desk.

“Of course I want to be around you!” Harold insisted. “Bubby, just because you wanted to remain friends doesn’t mean I’m going to leave. My feelings for you don’t have to be exclusively romantic. I can just enjoy being your friend—and I _do_ enjoy being your friend. I always will.”

Bubby looked embarrassed, shrinking down in his seat a little. “O-okay, fine, sure. I...you, too.” He muttered.

Harold rolled over to his desk, picking up the paper cup and setting it down on Bubby’s desk. “Here, steal a sip if you want to.” He said, sliding it in front of Bubby.

Bubby snorted, glancing up at Harold for only a moment. “I don’t want your damn coffee, Dr. Coomer.” He said, nudging it back towards Harold.

“Then what was all of that for?” Harold questioned with a broad smile.

“It’s not the same if you’re just _giving_ it to me.” Bubby huffed, picking up his pen and turning back to his work.

Harold laughed, picking up the cup and returning to his own desk. “Oh, fine,” he sighed dramatically. He smiled as he returned to work.

****

It had been a long time since that day. Bubby had truly felt like it was the end of the world over the couple of weeks between Dr. Coomer’s confession and Bubby breaking his mug, as he could see Dr. Coomer trying to put what he recognized in retrospect as a healthy distance between them. It made sense, of course; they weren’t going to see each other romantically, so Dr. Coomer didn’t want to be imposing. In Bubby’s irrational mind, though, he’d seen it as Dr. Coomer drifting away, trying to distance himself from Bubby entirely and move on when he couldn’t give Dr. Coomer what he wanted.

It was fine now, though. Years passed, and they settled into a comfortable normal; they were still _close,_ infinitely closer than Bubby had ever been with anyone before, which fed into his confusion about his feelings. He’d settle on the idea that he was straight one night, then he’d spend the next night drunk confessing to himself maybe he _did_ like Dr. Coomer. Regardless, he sure did feel _very_ strongly about him, didn’t he? He’d never had someone so close to him before, and it really threatened to make him spiral a lot of days, strangely enough. He could only ever seem to make his extreme fondness for him more _manageable_ —and yes, he viewed it as something to _manage_ , considering his emotional responses towards him felt so deeply overwhelming at points. Sometimes his affection towards him felt so intense, he couldn’t even function properly around him—or, perhaps, _without_ him.

That probably wasn’t normal, though, Bubby thought. He didn’t think it made logical sense to feel so deeply panicked or resentful towards any perceived distance between him and Dr. Coomer, or conversely like his own appreciation for him could honestly tear him to shreds. Nobody else acted so extreme over the tiniest perceived changes in their relationships. So he tried not to let that reach some sort of boiling point again like with the mug, trying any little trick in the book he could to keep his weirdly intense emotions in check. The vacations that Dr. Coomer took helped a little bit. Just when he thought it would crush him if Dr. Coomer left him alone for 5 minutes, that was when he recognized he sort of needed the distance the most; it helped put things in perspective a little bit, allowing him to see for himself yet again how capable he was of surviving on his own.

How strange, he thought, that he’d never quite gotten this with anyone before. Was this love after all? He wondered. Love didn’t seem like it should be so overwhelming. He saw couples around the facility, sometimes. They acted differently than he normally saw on TV. TV matched up with his experiences a little more, feeling more overblown and dramatic; but the people he saw dating or even married in the facility were so much more toned down. Bubby wasn’t sure what to make of it. Regardless, though, he deeply didn’t want to let any of it affect his relationship with his closest friend he’d ever had.

It had been after one of Dr. Coomer’s vacations that Bubby got more of an opportunity to see the inner workings of one of Dr. Coomer’s other friendships more closely. He’d headed out for a week during the spring, leaving Bubby to his own devices before eventually returning to work. Bubby tried not to seem too eager as he waited for Dr. Coomer at the usual fork in the hallway they met at before walking to the tram stop together. Finally, he saw him fumbling to reconcile his bag, a thermos, and a small black case in his hands as he walked down the hall, grinning as they made eye contact.

“Good morning, Bubby!” He greeted kindly as they began walking together.

“Oh, you’re back.” Bubby said casually, as if he hadn’t been counting the hours until he’d see him again, let alone standing there waiting for him. “How was your vacation?”

Dr. Coomer beamed at Bubby. “It was fantastic! I got you something.”

Bubby looked down curiously at the little black case Dr. Coomer handed to him. Bubby accepted it, unlatching it to open it tentatively. Inside was a folded handheld telescope, nestled comfortably in a divot in the protective foam.

“You’ve seemed to enjoy our stargazing so much, so I thought you might enjoy your own telescope.” Dr. Coomer explained.

Bubby felt a surge of affection again as he stared down at it. He gave Dr. Coomer a small smile, but that was all he allowed on his face. “It’s...adequate. Thank you, Dr. Coomer.”

Dr. Coomer grinned as though he’d just received the highest praise. “I also reconnected with an old college friend while I was out. I think you two would get along swimmingly! I was hoping to use one of my visitor passes so you two could meet. I-I mean, if you’d like.”

Bubby gripped the case tightly in his hands. “Oh. Really?”

“Yes! She was the one who recommended that telescope, actually. She studied astrophysics while we were in college, and is now working for Aperture Science. She’s in the area for work, and—oh, well, maybe I shouldn’t say too much.” Dr. Coomer stopped himself, looking to the distance as the tram approached. “In any case, she reminds me a lot of you, actually. Her name is Veronica. I think you would like her.”

“Oh. Well, if she studied astrophysics...” Bubby murmured thoughtfully as they reached the tram stop.

The two proceeded as normal for a few days, until the weekend came and Dr. Coomer invited Bubby for dinner with Veronica. Bubby could certainly see why Dr. Coomer said she reminded him of him; there was the shared passion for science, of course, and they most certainly didn’t talk about themselves very easily without Dr. Coomer’s intervention.

Logically, she seemed to be alright, Bubby thought. There was another feeling brewing up in him he despised from himself, though—was he a replacement for her all this time? Did he like her more?—but he excused himself to the bathroom for a few moments, sitting down on the floor to calm himself down. Once he felt less panicked, he rejoined them in the dining room and went right back to his discussion of astrophysics with her.

Dr. Coomer certainly seemed happy they were talking. He had an easier time making friends than Bubby did, after all; it made sense he’d love to spend time with two of his close friends at once. Eventually, though, Bubby started to feel overwhelmed by all the social contact and made his excuses to head back to his dorm.

****

Veronica had left shortly after Bubby met her, of course, considering she had work to be returning to herself. He could tell Dr. Coomer was disappointed at such short contact; they seemed like they’d been close, once, and were sort of rekindling a friendship in the brief time they got to spend together. Bubby couldn’t help but be sort of disappointed on his behalf—he knew better than anyone how suffocating and understimulating Black Mesa felt sometimes. An old friend showing up and having to leave shortly after was surely taking a slight toll on him.

Bubby thought things would return to normal the following Monday. When they met at the same fork in the hallway, though, Dr. Coomer displayed an unusual amount of excitement; normally, he looked like a zombie most mornings. Bubby nudged him as they began walking.

“What’s got you _living_ this morning?” Bubby asked him.

Dr. Coomer grinned at him sleepily. “Oh, technically, I don’t think I’m allowed to say anything—but I’m so excited, I can’t resist.” Dr. Coomer admitted. “I believe Veronica may be transferring here! She was here on a business trip technically, after all.”

“Oh! Huh.” Bubby said, pushing his glasses up on his face contemplatively. “Is she sure she wants to work _here?_ ”

Dr. Coomer laughed, surprising Bubby. “Oh, I suppose it’s not a shock you’d ask that. You’re right, obviously, Black Mesa is...well, it’s not fantastic. But it’s just—well, back in college, it felt like a battle royale to get any sort of offer from here. This is a highly sought after company, Bubby.”

Bubby scoffed. “Can’t imagine why.”

“Well, the pay is good, for starters.”

Bubby just shrugged, and Dr. Coomer nodded in understanding. It wasn’t like the usual employee rate actually affected _him_ —but Bubby was starting to see why it’d be so enticing for Veronica. They headed into the labs together as normal, though, Bubby shrugging off the interaction entirely. Aside from being happy for Dr. Coomer’s excitement at Veronica joining them in the facility, he was fairly neutral.

As they proceeded on with their day, they made some hasty plans to have dinner together again, like usual—they tended to always have dinner together these days—before he received a call at his desk. There was, of course, only ever one reason anyone would call him in this facility. Bubby sighed as he removed his gloves, abandoning the test he was currently working on with Dr. Coomer to pick up his desk phone.

“Hello?” He asked impatiently.

“Bubby, good morning.” The head scientist of the biological research department greeted. “I’m sure you’re busy, but we need you to come down for some tests today.”

“Is it too much to ask to have a fucking _schedule_ for this kind of thing?” Bubby questioned, leaning against his desk. “I’m actually _very_ busy, not that you seem to give a shit. We’re in the middle of a test up here.”

“We do have a schedule, Bubby, you just don’t seem to ever come down and check.” The head scientist said dismissively.

“You don’t make it _pleasant_ to go down and check.” Bubby grumbled. “Can it at least wait until tomorrow?”

“No, we actually have other things we need to be getting to, believe it or not.”

Bubby sighed in annoyance. “Whatever. Fine. Just completely uproot the whole operation up here, go ahead.” He said sarcastically before hanging up. By the time he looked back up, he noted Dr. Coomer watching him with a sympathetic look on his face.

“...More tests?” He asked gently.

Bubby frowned and nodded. “Yeah. Sorry, Dr. Coomer.”

“Well, there’s no reason for _you_ to apologize.” Dr. Coomer said kindly before averting his eyes and frowning. “...What _are_ the tests, exactly? If you don’t mind me asking.”

Bubby shrugged, collecting his things into his bag. “You know. Usually it’s just checking if my powers are degrading as I age or routine physicals.”

“Well? _Are_ your powers degrading?” Dr. Coomer asked curiously.

“No, they don’t seem to be. Doesn’t stop me from getting back pain, though.” Bubby complained. “I’m allegedly the ‘perfect lifeform’, and they still couldn’t figure out a solution to that, I guess.”

Dr. Coomer snickered, but didn’t seem nearly as amused as Bubby had hoped.

“Do they ever...” Dr. Coomer paused, biting his lip as he seemed to be thinking over his next few words. “Is it ever, well...unpleasant?”

Reflexively, Bubby shook his head. “It’s not that bad, Dr. Coomer, don’t fuss over me.”

Dr. Coomer nodded slowly, putting a smile back on for him. “Well, you can certainly stop by at my dorm afterward, if it doesn’t take all night again. I’ll keep dinner warm for you.”

Bubby paused as something about that made his stomach churn. It wasn’t like it was anything out of the ordinary. They always _eventually_ returned to their own dorms, it wasn’t like they were living together, but they still spent so much time visiting each other, he almost felt like they were roommates, anyway. It was such a domestic phrase; something people said on TV to those they loved, with the expectation that they’ll be back, going to just a little more trouble to give them a simple comfort when they return. Without warning, Bubby felt tears stinging his eyes. He just nodded and quickly turned away, expertly keeping his voice even as he headed out the office door.

“Thanks, Coomer. See you tonight.” He called back.

Bubby didn’t make it back to the dorms at a reasonable hour. He trudged sluggishly through the halls at 1am, the pain of a sudden surgery at least dulled by the pain killers given to him. The downside was, he really wasn’t in a good state to be returning to his dorm on his own like this. Well-meaning scientists had insisted he should stay in the lab—his old room was still reserved for him, after all. But the memory of heavy locks on the door had pushed him into insisting he was fine to go back to his dorm on his own. He stumbled weakly down the long hallways, getting lost a couple times in his confusion before he began to pass by a door he knew, as though he’d been attracted to it magnetically.

Dr. Coomer would be asleep, he was sure. It wasn’t a reasonable hour to barge in on him. He rattled at the doorknob, anyway, sighing when he found it locked. He turned, intent to find his way back to his own dorm, and only made it a few steps away before he heard the door opening behind him.

“Bubby?” Dr. Coomer called after him.

Bubby turned back to him with an embarrassed frown, regretting the attempt to simply let himself in. Dr. Coomer was in his pajamas, but clearly fully awake. As Bubby grew unsteady with a rush of dizziness, Dr. Coomer was quick to stand by his side, putting a steadying arm around his shoulders.

“Bubby, are you alright?” Dr. Coomer asked anxiously. “Here, come in, you should sit down.”

Dr. Coomer supported him into his dorm, easing him down onto the couch. Bubby leaned back gratefully with a sigh, glancing at the TV—Dr. Coomer seemed to be up late watching some movie he didn’t recognize.

“What happened?” Dr. Coomer asked him, his arm still around Bubby’s shoulders.

Bubby leaned into him, deeply enjoying the comforting feeling of Dr. Coomer’s body heat and soft, caring touch.

“Just tests.” Bubby murmured. “I’m just a little...woozy from the medication.”

Dr. Coomer held him a little closer, not offering a response to that. He probably didn’t know what to say. After a long silence, Bubby leaned more comfortably against Dr. Coomer, letting his eyes close. It wasn’t like they never sat close like this before; Dr. Coomer was sort of a cuddly man, and Bubby was past trying to complain about that. He just didn’t normally consider letting himself fall asleep against him. He was particular about his sleep habits, now that he had the freedom to be; now, though, he was just drifting off, and Dr. Coomer seemed intent to let him.

By the time Bubby woke up, it was to noises coming from the kitchen. Not lucid enough to remember where he was, Bubby jolted up, only to be painfully reminded of the scars along his stomach. He grunted as he took in his surroundings. He was in a bed—not his own bed, though. He’d seen this room a few times before. Memories started to come back to him slowly; he was alone in Dr. Coomer’s room, probably moved from the couch during the night and provided a thick, heavy blanket.

Bubby just laid there silently for a few minutes, something stirring in his chest as his mind immediately tried to place the warmth of Dr. Coomer’s bed as his lingering body heat. He imagined being in his arms again, held safely against his chest, protected from the harsh smells and equipment of his mandatory surgery. Dr. Coomer had probably slept on the couch, though; there was one less pillow on the bed, after all, and the blanket he recognized from the times he’d seen his room was missing. He turned his head, burying his face in the pillow he was resting on and letting out a deep sigh.

“Ah! You’re awake.” Dr. Coomer said as he poked his head into the room, carrying in a glass of water to set down gently on the nightstand.

“What time is it?” Bubby asked, voice hoarse.

“It’s around 10 in the morning.” Dr. Coomer replied, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

“Oh, fuck, what about work?” Bubby asked in a panic.

“It’s Saturday, Bubby.” Dr. Coomer reminded him gently.

“Oh. Good.” Bubby said as he eased himself back down. “...This is a nice blanket.”

“Oh, yes, that’s one my grandma made.” Dr. Coomer said dismissively. “How are you feeling?”

Bubby paused to stare up at the ceiling, listening to the creaking floorboards from Dr. Coomer’s upstairs neighbor walking around. He’d never woken up like this before, he realized with a numbness washing over him—nobody he’d cared about had ever been there by his side to take care of him. He’d received some welcome comforts down in the lab, back before he’d been allowed to work elsewhere and live in his own dorm; extra blankets were offered during rough nights, glasses of water were provided when he felt sick from poorly chosen medications to cope with the discomfort from tests, special food was given when he was doing well—but that was...

Pity. He hated that, probably. Scientists giving him base-level care to cope with the horrors they actively participated in to ease their own guilt. He was only just realizing how much it should bother him now, actually; it didn’t feel _bad,_ though, he thought. It was more...the idea that it wasn’t the ideal condition to grow up in had only just been unlocked in his head. Meanwhile, Dr. Coomer had been the first person he thought of when he felt he needed comfort in his delirious state, and Dr. Coomer provided it without a second thought. He’d held him in his arms, kept him warm with surely a very special blanket from a member of his own family—something Bubby had never had the luxury of having—and was here by his side the moment he woke up to take care of him. _Truly_ take care of him, when it gave him no benefit to do so. Keeping Bubby on his feet was just a task down in the lab in order to keep tests running on schedule. All of this had no ulterior motives. Dr. Coomer just cared. Bubby stayed there for a long moment as Dr. Coomer waited for a response from him.

“I’m fine.” Bubby finally replied. “Just a little nauseous.”

“Well, you ought to have some water, then.” Dr. Coomer replied, picking the glass back up and handing it to Bubby. Bubby took a reluctant sip and handed it back. “...Bubby...what did they do?”

Bubby sighed. “Nothing out of the ordinary. Just a laparascopy.” He murmured.

Dr. Coomer frowned, placing a gentle hand on Bubby. “Was it _necessary?_ Did they need to check something?”

“Well, yeah, of course.” Bubby said bluntly. “They wouldn’t be doing it otherwise.”

“No, I mean...” Dr. Coomer was quiet for a moment. “Was it for _your_ benefit at all?”

“No.” Bubby said. He said it casually, without any concern behind it. This was his normal, after all. He knew, on some level, it wasn’t _good,_ but since when did Bubby ever receive anything good without having to fight tooth and nail for it?

...Except for Dr. Coomer, of course. Dr. Coomer was someone good he’d, somehow, just been allowed to experience passively.

Dr. Coomer looked so genuinely distraught by his response, too. He reached for Bubby’s hand and squeezed it, seemingly at a loss for words. After a few moments, he finally got something out.

“Bubby...that’s not okay.” He said, voice broken a little.

Bubby stared up at the ceiling again. It was so strange. Dr. Coomer was in no position to do anything about Bubby’s situation, had no benefit or reason to care, and yet...he just did. He cared enough to feel genuine sorrow on his behalf, for some reason.

Bubby already knew Dr. Coomer had liked him romantically at some point; he had no idea if he still felt that way, but at the very least, he’d clearly considered a relationship with him at some point in the past, despite it all. It wasn’t like any of this should have been a surprise, but...

“...I guess so.” Bubby muttered. In the awkward silence that followed—awkward for him, at least—he felt the blanket again with his free hand. “...Your grandma made this?”

Dr. Coomer nodded slowly. “Yeah, I mean...a long time ago.” He replied as he wiped tears from his eyes. “I’ve just had it for years. It’s too warm for me, though.”

“Hm.” Bubby hummed thoughtfully.

“...Do you like it that much?”

Bubby glanced up at Dr. Coomer. “Huh? I don’t know. I just didn’t realize a blanket could be this heavy.”

“Well, if you like it, you can keep it.” Dr. Coomer offered.

“What? No, it was made for _you._ By family. You don’t wanna give that away, right?”

Dr. Coomer laughed a little bit. “Bubby, my grandma never once referred to me by my real name. I can live without a blanket she made for me.”

Bubby gripped the blanket between his fingers. “...Alright. Sure, I guess, if you really don’t want it.”

Dr. Coomer patted Bubby’s shoulder as he stood. “Do you think you could stomach any food right now? I’m making breakfast.”

Bubby sighed a little bit. “Usually, I can only really handle toast.”

“Alright, just a moment, then.” Dr. Coomer said as he bustled back off into the kitchen.

They ate breakfast together in relative silence, catching the ending half of the first vaguely interesting-looking movie on at the moment. Neither having seen it before, after they’d finished eating, they made more and more ridiculous theories on how the movie had actually begun before Dr. Coomer’s phone began to ring. He quickly stood to reply, Bubby missing his warmth by his side as he left. Dr. Coomer smiled wide as the person on the other end announced themself. They seemed to be delivering good news—Dr. Coomer grinned and bounced on his heels a little enthusiastically, telling them how great the news was, how excited he was—Bubby strained to hear the other end of the conversation curiously, but the phone was too far away for Bubby to hear anything distinct.

“Oh, I’m _so_ excited, this will be so wonderful!” Dr. Coomer repeated. “When you get here, we ought to celebrate! I could actually show you—well—I could show you _so_ much, I wouldn’t know where to start, honestly.”

Oh—maybe he was talking to Veronica, Bubby guessed. She must’ve gotten the job.

“Well, it’s been _very_ nice talking to you, but I ought to get going for now. I’ll talk to you soon, though.” Dr. Coomer said kindly, nodding after a pause. “Yep! Of course. Bye.”

Dr. Coomer hung up and smiled as he turned back to Bubby. “Veronica got a position here!” Dr. Coomer announced excitedly, plopping back down beside Bubby. “She also says hi, by the way.”

“Oh, that’s good.” Bubby replied, earnest but awkward as always. “What department?”

“It’ll be some confidential project, I suppose. She told me a little bit of what she could, but I didn’t really understand it when she told me. Something about space.” Dr. Coomer said thoughtfully, twirling his hair between his fingers. “But—oh, I’m so excited! It’ll be wonderful, having you both to hang out with.”

“Oh, yeah. Hm.” Bubby nodded in understanding. Black Mesa loved anything and everything to do with space, seemed like; if he had to guess, based on his time jumping between departments before settling down in the one mini-department off anomalous materials with Dr. Coomer, it was probably that joint project with Aperture—made sense, given her previous employment there. “When does she start?”

“In about two weeks.” Dr. Coomer replied, seemingly mindlessly drawing Bubby in closer to him and sighing in contentment. Bubby couldn’t help but close his eyes and just enjoy the contact.

****

The day Veronica arrived to begin living and working at Black Mesa, Dr. Coomer had resolved to help her set up her dorm. Bubby, uncertain how welcome he was, decided it was better not to invite himself; he let Dr. Coomer and Veronica have their day together, instead, hanging back in his own dorm and watching TV.

He hadn’t spent a day without Dr. Coomer like this before in a while, he realized with a start when the silence pressed in on him a little too much. It wasn’t _uncommon,_ some weekends they’d just prefer to recharge from work on their own, but it had been...a few weeks, maybe? Bubby thought. It felt strange. It was fine, obviously; Dr. Coomer was busy, and he thought Veronica was fine, he just didn’t have the energy to be talking to someone relatively new that day, and...well, here he was, simultaneously lonely and resenting the idea of social contact.

Weird. He didn’t normally feel that combination, he considered as he turned off the TV and picked up one of his books instead, hoping it’d occupy his thoughts a little more. He wasn’t a very sociable person, but he still felt _lonely_ at times before he met Dr. Coomer. All this time being his friend, all these years getting closer and closer with him, he hadn’t actually felt so lonely in a long time. He forgot how much it stung; or, maybe, it stung more, now that he had positive social contact to miss?

In any case, Dr. Coomer _did_ usher Bubby along to boxing club with Veronica. She didn’t seem like a boxer herself, actually; Bubby didn’t box with anyone else in the club, either, so they both mostly hung back against the wall to watch Dr. Coomer. Bubby had no idea what to say to her. It was easier with Dr. Coomer—he _always_ had something to say, when the mood was light—but Veronica didn’t seem chatty. Eventually, he ended up filling the silence by complaining about poorly constructed theories on black holes.

Eventually, though, Dr. Coomer broke away from a victorious match and approached the two, looking at Veronica with a wide smile. “Would you care for a match?” He asked, holding out a spare pair of gloves.

“Huh? Oh, no.” She replied, holding her hands up. “You know I just prefer watching.”

“Oh, come on, you can’t spare just _one_ match for me?” Dr. Coomer pressed playfully. “After all these years, I thought you might actually give it another shot.”

Veronica eventually caved, and Bubby stayed firmly in his spot as he watched her put the gloves on and step out to the middle of the room. She didn’t seem _inexperienced_ —there was some untold history there, Bubby guessed. It struck Bubby then how little he actually knew about Dr. Coomer’s life prior to Black Mesa; he knew about the area he grew up in, old childhood friends, and some college stories here and there, but he’d never even mentioned Veronica before the week she’d visited. He never talked about his family much, either, Bubby thought. As Dr. Coomer was clearly toying with her—that same look on his face he got whenever Bubby was going particularly easy on him, and Dr. Coomer _thought_ he was winning with ease—Bubby felt a strange churning in his stomach.

It was like earlier, actually, but he was surrounded by people this time, and had just spent the better part of 20 minutes dumping everything he knew about black holes onto Dr. Coomer’s friend. He had no reason to feel lonely. Was that even it, then? He wondered.

Bubby looked at Dr. Coomer as he threw what seemed to be the winning punch. She stumbled back, putting her arms up in defeat. Dr. Coomer laughed as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and drew her in close. Like he’d forgotten entirely about Bubby already, just in the span of a single night.

Bubby let out a short, annoyed breath at himself and left the room, unable to stop himself from shaking his arms out to vent the unpleasant feeling in his stomach. Maybe it wasn’t entirely fair for him to be thinking that, but that sure wasn’t stopping him from turning it over in his head the whole elevator ride. As he got up to one of the upper levels and began passing by other scientists on their way back from the employee facilities, Bubby crossed his arms tightly to still them.

Veronica seemed fine. He liked the fact that she made Dr. Coomer so happy—he _liked_ seeing Dr. Coomer happy. That was all fine. It was just...he felt...

Bubby growled as he returned to his dorm, at a loss for words to place his own emotions. He never knew how to place them, least of all when it came to his friendship with Dr. Coomer. He liked him a lot, and the emotions surrounding his friendship with him just got more baffling and overwhelming by the day, sometimes. Just another weird feeling for him to push down for Dr. Coomer’s sake, he lamented as he opted for a shower, hoping to clear his head a little.

He couldn’t let Dr. Coomer—or Veronica, for that matter—know how he was feeling about any of this. It would probably just damage his friendship with them. Besides, maybe he just needed to give the feeling time to go away; surely, if he slept on it, he’d feel better in the morning.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: bad therapist

Things changed significantly in Bubby’s personal life as Veronica got settled in. She tended to work longer hours than Dr. Coomer and Bubby, but by the time dinner was ready, she’d usually be letting herself into the dorm to join them. Well—maybe that phrasing was unfair. Dr. Coomer always invited her, same as he did Bubby. That was perfectly fine. Bubby didn’t have any right to demand Dr. Coomer’s full, undivided attention the way he instinctively found himself wanting to; plus, again, as he always did his best to remind himself, she seemed okay. No reason to lash out. It would be fine.

Bubby mulled this over in his head, not for the first or last time as he headed down to the biological research department. This meeting was a monthly one, and promised no strenuous tests as always—physically, at least. After some “incidents”, Bubby was obligated to head down the second Monday of every month straight after work for a psych evaluation. He hated these deeply; all the same patronizing, humiliating questions that prodded at his every motivation like he was a lab rat. Except lab rats at least got the dignity of not being asked why they gnawed at the bars of their cages, though, right?

Bubby felt sick as always as he let himself in, ignoring any greetings from scientists he knew all too well to head straight for the psychologist’s office. The current doctor always questioning him was Dr. Deupree—a man that really played up the “annoying psychologist” personality. Well, at least Bubby didn’t have to pour any brainpower into finding any petty excuses to find him annoying; Dr. Deupree handed him his petty grievances on a silver platter.

He didn’t bother knocking—Bubby knew he was expected. He opened the door up and kicked it shut behind him, watching Dr. Deupree look up from paperwork he was currently working on.

“Oh! Bubby.” He said, shuffling papers around on his desk and removing his reading glasses. “Have a seat.”

Bubby sank down in the chair in front of the desk with an annoyed sigh.

“How are we doing this month?” Dr. Deupree asked, picking up one of his pens and a fresh sheet of paper.

“Fine.” Bubby huffed. “Same as always. Just working in that same offshoot of anomalous materials.”

“You’ve been there for quite a while, haven’t you?” Dr. Deupree asked as he scribbled down quick notes. “I’ve never seen you stick to one department for longer than, say...a month, max?”

Bubby shrugged. “It’s an interesting department. I don’t feel like uprooting everything just to go somewhere else right now.”

Dr. Deupree nodded briefly, and they delved into the normal questions. Was Bubby planning to hurt others or himself, did he have any hallucinations, etc, etc—it was monotonous at this point, Bubby now fully capable of answering each question in order without even thinking about it. Eventually, as the evaluation came to an end, Bubby was ready to grab his bag and head back up to the dorms before pausing in his seat.

“...Hey.” He said suddenly, refusing to look Dr. Deupree in the eye. “You’re a psychologist. I guess. Qualified enough to ask me the same goddamn 20 questions off a list once a month—what did you learn in college? Questionnaires, or anything actually fucking useful?”

Dr. Deupree looked annoyed, but took a deep breath and replied, anyway. “I learned plenty, Bubby. Was there something else you wanted to talk about?”

“I wanna know your qualifications.” Bubby insisted, crossing his arms. “Did you specialize in something before coming to Black Mesa? You’re not the first psychologist assigned to me, obviously, so you must be coming from something else, right?”

“I specialize in organizational psychology. That’s why I work here at Black Mesa, after all.” Dr. Deupree replied, leaning back in his seat. “It pays off pretty well to address work environments in a company that practically serves as its own city.”

Bubby scoffed. “Right. So you don’t actually know anything that could be of use to me, I’m sure.” He said, picking up his bag and standing.

“Just because I specialized in organizational psychology doesn’t mean I can’t help you with any other issues.” Dr. Deupree called after him as Bubby started to leave. “Is something bothering you? It is my job to talk to you about this sort of thing, you know.”

Bubby gritted his teeth, turning slowly back to Dr. Deupree. “Fine.” He grumbled. “I-...do you know why I...feel so much?”

Dr. Deupree gave him a quizzical look. “What do you mean, Bubby?”

Bubby sighed in exasperation, fiddling with the strap of his bag in his hands. “I don’t feel like it’s normal. Maybe they fucked something up when I was in the tube—overcompensating for how the prototypes can be or something, I don’t know. But it’s...so much. Even anything positive can feel so fucking overwhelming, sometimes, I don’t—” Bubby stopped, trying to steady himself so his voice wouldn’t begin to shake with embarrassment. “I don’t think it’s supposed to...h-...hurt this much. Nobody else acts like it does.”

Dr. Deupree got a fascinated look in his eyes—Bubby considered turning to leave right then and there. “Well, what’s been bothering you? Is there something going on at work, or maybe in your personal life, that’s stressing you out?”

“I mean—it’s not anything specific.” Bubby argued. “I’ve been like this my whole goddamn life, I’m not going to sit here and try to pin down specific reasons I feel something. That’s beside the point.”

“Is it?” Dr. Deupree asked, indicating for Bubby to sit down again. Bubby resolved to stay exactly where he was. “If we talk about specific instances where you felt something was overwhelming, it could really help me understand.”

“Well, try living in Black Mesa your whole life as a science experiment sometime, maybe you’ll understand then.”

Dr. Deupree sighed, fiddling with his pen for a moment. “I can’t argue with that, I guess.” He murmured before seeming to make up his mind and continue. “...I suppose it could come from a lack of formative relationships as you grew up. You didn’t have anyone you considered a parental figure, did you?”

Bubby felt an overwhelming feeling of frustration beginning to flood him, so he opted to remain silent.

“If you’re only just recently starting to get close to someone, I’m sure it could feel like it hurts in a lot of ways.” Dr. Deupree went on thoughtfully. “Any new friends things aren’t going so well with? Or maybe—”

“Stop! Stop.” Bubby blurted out before Dr. Deupree could finish his sentence. “I-I’ve heard enough. I’m leaving.”

“Bubby, hold on!” Dr. Deupree called as Bubby threw the door open, but Bubby pressed on, bouncing on his heels at the main exit out of biological research as he waited for the guard to open it for him. Dr. Deupree was hot on his trail, though, the guard pausing as he watched him catch up. “Bubby, this is the most I’ve heard from you on anything since we started working together. You can’t just leave now.”

“I answered your questions. You know I’m not planning anything.” Bubby argued, glaring at the guard waiting for them to finish their exchange.

“No, but I can’t just ignore a breakthrough like this.” Dr. Deupree insisted. “Come back to my office, I’d like to talk to you some more. We have all evening.”

“A breakthrough?” Bubby echoed incredulously. “This isn’t a fucking breakthrough! This is how I live every single day of my goddamn life! Just because you’re only just now hearing about it doesn’t mean anything. Just—let me go home. You may have all night, but I’m actually expected for dinner, I don’t want to miss that again.”

Bubby grimaced at himself as he let that fact slip. Dr. Deupree, once again, looked fascinated—did he have to get that fucking look on his face? Bubby thought in deep frustration. Like his personal struggles weren’t something to be sympathized with, but something to pick apart and analyze, like the experiment he was.

“Oh, so you do have a new friend, then?” Dr. Deupree asked thoughtfully. “Well, it’s no wonder, isn’t it? I’ve never known you to get so close to anyone.”

“I’ve had friends before, this isn’t something new or fascinating!” Bubby said, crossing his arms. “And I might just hurt his feelings or something if I don’t show up for dinner tonight. Do you really want that, Dr. Deupree? Will you let me go?”

Dr. Deupree finally held his hands up in defeat. “Okay, sure. We can talk more about it next month, then. Go on.” He said, nodding at the guard to let Bubby out.

The guard finally opened the door, and Bubby stormed out of the room to get to the dorms. As he arrived at Dr. Coomer’s door, he moved for the doorhandle to let himself in, surprised to find it locked. He felt a rock drop in his stomach as he slowly moved to knock.

“Oh!” He heard Dr. Coomer exclaim from inside. Barely a minute later, the door opened, revealing plates set out at the table with Veronica already eating, and what Bubby assumed to be Dr. Coomer’s plate half cleared off. Bubby clenched his fingers into fists down by his sides. “I’m sorry, Bubby, we didn’t think you were coming tonight.”

“I-it’s Monday. I had my evaluation.” Bubby reminded him, struggling to keep his voice even.

“Oh—of course! I’m so sorry, that must’ve slipped my mind. Well, I made more than enough for you as always, come in. I’ll get you a plate.” Dr. Coomer said cheerily, stepping aside to let Bubby in.

Bubby shuffled inside awkwardly, sinking down in his usual seat more stiffly than usual. Dr. Coomer served him a plate and set it out in front of him, and it could almost be as though nothing wrong had happened all evening; but something about this tiny mistake, with absolutely no repercussions, was sticking too hard to Bubby’s chest. He watched as Dr. Coomer and Veronica glanced at each other, immediately bursting into giggles over something Bubby didn’t have the fortune of understanding. How much had he missed, in just the past few minutes where they didn’t think he would be here? He wondered. Were they having more fun without him? They seemed to be remembering some inside joke, something that they clearly didn’t care to tell Bubby. He sank down in his seat, barely managing to stomach anything he tried to eat off his plate.

Maybe Dr. Deupree had been right; something like this, something so trivial, was hurting way too much to make sense. He’d never become equipped to handle the most inconsequential social missteps like this, without anybody on his own level to grow up with. He wasn’t normal, and he couldn’t expect to be normal—even the most invasive, grueling tests felt less painful than the simple fact of Dr. Coomer forgetting Bubby would be here tonight.

“Are you feeling alright, Bubby?” Dr. Coomer asked suddenly. “You’ve barely touched your food.”

Bubby swallowed hard, pushing the plate away a little. “I-I’m...fine. Just nauseous tonight.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I can get you some new plain potatoes, to avoid upsetting your stomach further.” Dr. Coomer offered, taking Bubby’s plate and standing.

“No, Coomer, it’s fine.” Bubby insisted. “I’ll just...I-I think I’ll just go home.”

Dr. Coomer frowned as he stood there, easing back down and setting the plate aside. “Well, if you’re not feeling well, I understand. But—well, Veronica and I were going to watch a movie, maybe you’d like to join us?”

Bubby shook his head as he stood up unsteadily. “...No. It’s okay. I’ll just...see you tomorrow.”

Dr. Coomer nodded slowly. “Alright, then. Goodnight, Bubby.”

“Feel better.” Veronica added kindly.

Bubby frowned and headed for the door without another word. As he closed it gently behind him, he stood there for a few moments, locked in place by his own overwhelming feelings. As he waited to regain his own strength, he heard Dr. Coomer and Veronica return to whatever they’d been talking about, laughing and giggling as though nothing had happened. Bubby turned on his heel and headed back for his own dorm.

****

Bubby didn’t have the luxury of going outside Black Mesa to look for presents, but he did have something else: a TV, which advertised all sorts of gimmicky products he could order through the phone, as well as prepaid cards provided to him by Black Mesa with some of the budget money. The money provided to him to use of his own accord was mostly for groceries, clothes, and other necessities—but Bubby tended to save his money wherever he could, coming in handy for birthday presents for Dr. Coomer.

Dr. Coomer had a tendency to insist he didn’t want any sort of fancy party—always fine by Bubby—but this year, Veronica had confided in Bubby that she was planning a surprise birthday party, and was hoping to host it in her own dorm. Bubby agreed to attend, heading straight for Veronica’s dorm as planned with Dr. Coomer’s birthday present tucked away safely in his bag. It wasn’t a large group, but considering the small size of most dorms, it still felt pretty packed; it was mostly boxing club members, along with a couple other people Bubby didn’t recognize. He didn’t do too well in such close proximity with so many people—he pushed himself into a relatively unoccupied corner as everyone waited for Dr. Coomer to arrive back with Veronica.

As the door opened, everyone began bustling excitably to welcome Dr. Coomer. He gave everyone a surprised, delighted expression before turning to Veronica with a massive smile.

“You planned all this?” He asked her, taking one of her hands.

She nodded with a grin. “Of course I did! I’ve seen how boring it gets down here, I wanted to do something special for you. You deserve it.”

Bubby frowned deeply, trapped now in the corner he’d condemned himself to, unless he wanted to push past everyone else. He stood there, watching as everyone crowded in to wish Dr. Coomer a happy birthday. Dr. Coomer thanked them all before locking eyes with Bubby, grinning as he excused himself from them all to nudge through and greet Bubby.

“Bubby! Thank you so much for coming.” Dr. Coomer said kindly, wrapping his arms tightly around him—something he hadn’t done for anyone else, even Veronica. Bubby sort of resented how much he relaxed at that, hugging Dr. Coomer back gently as he lowered his voice to speak only to Bubby. “I know you don’t really enjoy crowds. I appreciate you taking the time to be here anyway.”

Bubby found his face growing hot as Dr. Coomer spoke quietly to him, wrapped up in his arms. “Yeah. Whatever. Your present’s on the table.”

Dr. Coomer released Bubby, giving him a warm smile as he held him by his shoulders. “Oh, you know you don’t have to get me anything, Bubby! I don’t want to eat into your savings.”

“Well, it’s too late, I already got it.” Bubby pointed out, nodding to the table. “I also brought wine, but I guess everyone else did, too.”

“Oh, but you know the kind I like.” Dr. Coomer replied happily before turning away to rejoin the rest of the group, ushering Bubby along with him.

Bubby wasn’t one for parties; he found himself aching to go home early on, but stuck around for Dr. Coomer’s sake, sipping probably too much wine to make things a little more bearable. Dr. Coomer kept him firmly by his side; Veronica on his other side, of course, as things always were these days. He did sort of sit on the edge of the conversations, though, not really intent to interject until the topic of gravity wells came up—put a bunch of scientists in a room together with alcohol, and they’re going to start arguing about science eventually, as Bubby learned—and spent a long, drunken few minutes correcting everything that had been wrongly stated. As he finished his long rant, he punctuated it by finishing off the remainder of his wine.

“I guess I can’t argue with that.” The offending scientist said as Dr. Coomer plucked Bubby’s empty glass from his hand.

“Would you like me to get you some more?” Dr. Coomer asked him.

“Oh, sure, if you’re already getting up.” Bubby replied. Dr. Coomer stood and headed for the kitchen, everyone else settling into new conversation. When he returned, though, he was empty-handed with a frown. “Sorry, Bubby, looks like it’s already gone. Do you want the other kind?”

“Oh, I have more in my dorm.” Bubby offered as he stood. “I’ll go get it.”

“Oh, no, don’t trouble yourself, I can go get it.” Veronica said. “Could I borrow your key?”

Bubby frowned deeply, unwilling to hand his key over. “No, I’ll get it.”

“Oh, Bubby, just sit down and enjoy yourself, I’ll go with her.” Dr. Coomer insisted. “Same cabinet as always?”

Bubby resisted a hum of discomfort. “...Fine. Yeah, same cabinet.” Bubby murmured, handing his dorm key over to Dr. Coomer.

The two of them left in a hurry, leaving Bubby with that strange brand of isolation despite being surrounded by others. They all talked amiably, Bubby spacing out as he looked at Veronica’s still rather undecorated dorm. It was taking longer for them to return than Bubby thought appropriate; maybe they’d stopped at Dr. Coomer’s dorm as well along the way, he mused.

“What do you think, Bubby?”

Bubby glanced up, broken out of his thoughts. “Hm? About what?”

“That new romance that just came out! Grease?” The same scientist, a woman he didn’t recognize, said. “You saw it, right? It came out in theaters just a little while ago.”

“...Oh. I don’t like theaters.” Bubby replied half-heartedly. “I only watch movies when they broadcast on TV.”

“Yeah, that’s a smart move.” Another one laughed. “I mean, the gas to get out to the city, let alone you’re practically making it a day trip just to go see a fucking movie—makes me miss working in the city.”

Bubby was ready to begin tuning everyone out again, wondering what was taking Veronica and Dr. Coomer so long when he felt the couch shift, the same woman who had been sitting in a dining chair across from Bubby plopping down where Dr. Coomer had been sitting. Bubby tensed unwillingly, noting everyone else had proceeded with their conversation while she seemed solely focused on him.

“...Do you remember me at all?” She asked suddenly.

“What? No.” Bubby replied bluntly.

She snickered, apparently not offended. “Yeah, I guess it’s been a while. I worked on the Borealis project with you for a bit before you left, remember?”

Bubby paused for a moment. “Oh, right, yeah. I remember.”

She brushed her hair behind her ear, taking a moment before speaking again. As she began talking, Bubby’s attention was drawn back to the door as it opened, revealing Dr. Coomer with a bottle of wine in one hand and Veronica’s hand in the other. Bubby watched them as they reentered the dorm, making eye contact with Dr. Coomer as he seemed to notice his spot had been taken.

“...Bubby?”

“Oh.” Bubby turned back to the woman sat next to him. “Uhh—say that again?”

“I was asking what department you’re in now.” She said quickly.

“Oh. An offshoot of anomalous materials, for now.” Bubby replied, watching Dr. Coomer lean in close to Veronica to whisper to her as they headed to the kitchen together. “Dr. Coomer and I run specific overflow tests on samples handed off to us from anomalous materials proper.”

“Oh, that sounds cool! I mean—really different from the Borealis project.” She said, looking slightly perplexed. “What did you study in college, then?”

Bubby frowned as he lost sight of Dr. Coomer around the corner. “...Uhh...I’m a double major.” He lied. “Astrophysics and...geology.”

“Oh, that’s an interesting pair.” She said with a smile as Dr. Coomer and Veronica reappeared, Dr. Coomer carrying two glasses of wine. He handed one to Bubby with a wide smile, sitting down beside Veronica in the now unoccupied dining chair rather than the couch.

“Yeah, I guess.” Bubby muttered before taking a sip of his wine gratefully.

She smiled, pausing again and shifting in her seat before finally speaking back up. “Well, if you haven’t seen Grease, I just got a VCR. I could get the VHS when it comes out, and maybe you could...come by my dorm for dinner, and we could watch it together?”

Bubby’s muscles clenched. Oh. So _that’s_ what this was. Bubby looked at her for a moment before sparing Dr. Coomer a glance—he seemed to be listening in, while everyone else was preoccupied. Bubby’s mouth felt very dry as he tried to consider what to say.

Okay. So he was getting asked on a date by a coworker—fully aware for the second time in his life that this was receiving declaration of romantic interest, this time from a woman. What should he consider here, he wondered, as his stomach twisted into knots? The fact that he’d already been close friends with Dr. Coomer when he confessed, while he barely even remembered working with this woman? Or that, perhaps, the complete inability to see himself on a date with her, or any woman for that matter, may be an indication of something he’d put off thinking about for way too long?

“Uhhh.” Bubby finally said, clearing his throat. “No, thanks.”

“Oh. Y-yeah, okay, that’s fine.” She replied, clearly disappointed. “I’m just gonna...go get some more wine, then.”

She stood, heading quickly to the kitchen. Bubby looked back to Dr. Coomer, who was already standing and nodding to Bubby.

“I think I forgot something in my dorm.” He said, pulling out his keys. “Would you join me, Bubby?”

Bubby nodded eagerly, following Dr. Coomer out to the hallway. He let out a deeply relieved sigh once the door was shut, the music and pleasant conversation now muffled as they began wandering down the hall slowly.

“Sorry. You looked like you needed to escape for a minute, there.” Dr. Coomer said with a smile.

“I did. I absolutely did.” Bubby groaned. “...Coomer?”

“Hmm?”

“I think...” Bubby paused. “I mean—that few minutes...I think it put something into perspective for me. But I don’t know if I’m jumping to conclusions or not.”

“What’s that, Bubby?”

Bubby glanced around the hall in a fit of paranoia before nodding at Dr. Coomer and picking up the pace. Dr. Coomer followed, unlocking the door to his dorm and letting them both in. Bubby made sure to lock the door behind them before beginning to pace.

“I-I don’t know.” He began, adjusting his glasses on his face. “I was—I mean, I barely know her, I don’t even remember her name. She seems okay, I guess. I mean...as I understand it, she seems like someone it would make sense to be...well, attracted to, I guess. But the thing is...”

Bubby stopped pacing, looking back up at Dr. Coomer. He’d removed his lab coat and tie, just leaving him in his button-up he’d undone slightly at the top and rolled up the sleeves. His shoulder-length hair was slightly messy; it usually was at the end of the day, considering how much he always played with it whenever he was thinking. And he looked so whole-heartedly invested in what Bubby had to say. Always so invested, always making time for him when he needed it, so strangely kind to him even though he knew the darkest secrets of Bubby’s existence. Bubby felt seen by Dr. Coomer, understood in a way nobody else had ever provided.

Clearly, that old coworker had seemed to want to get closer to Bubby as well. Maybe she could have been someone he could reveal his secrets to. They could have seen each other almost nightly for dinner, watched movies together, sat in each other’s arms on the couch—but those were all things Bubby only ever wanted from one person. He wanted it solely from the first person to know who Bubby was, and yet still see him as undeniably a person to respect and care for. Bubby never felt so strongly about anyone’s affection as he did about Dr. Coomer’s. So...

Bubby swallowed hard. “I think I’m gay.”

Dr. Coomer gave Bubby a surprised look.

“Listen! I just—maybe I’m wrong, I don’t know how you know these things! It’s just...” Bubby swallowed a lump in his throat. “I guess, technically, I kept considering it years ago. I kept telling myself it didn’t matter anyway, so I’d dismiss it entirely. But now, it just...it felt so weird, and I’ve never really thought of...well, women, and—I mean, I thought...”

As Bubby trailed off, panic rising in him, Dr. Coomer stepped up closer to place a gentle hand on his shoulder and guide him to the couch. Bubby sat down, unsure what to say now. It felt right, telling Dr. Coomer first, if he’d ever tell anyone about this sort of thing; Dr. Coomer had already explicitly told him he was bisexual, so he was safe and non-judgmental. Still, the look on his face—clearly perplexed, but trying to look supportive—was making Bubby grow more anxious.

“Well, it’s okay, Bubby.” Dr. Coomer said, drawing Bubby in close to hug him comfortingly. “I know this feels confusing now, but I’m always here for you. If it doesn’t make much sense to you now, you have all the time in the world to figure it out! So don’t stress yourself on having all the answers now. I support you, no matter what.”

Bubby couldn’t deny how much that relaxed him, but on the other hand, he was coming to another very shocking realization. Comparing and truly scrutinizing these two experiences, his old coworker confessing her interest in him versus Dr. Coomer doing the very same, only brought him to a single conclusion.

He was in love with Dr. Coomer.

“Y-you seem surprised.” Bubby pointed out, mostly to fill the silence as his heart raced.

Dr. Coomer shook his head. “Oh, no, I’m sorry! I didn’t want to give off the impression that it’s shocking in any way.”

Bubby sat there for a long few moments, thinking back on Dr. Coomer’s confession all those years ago. “...When you told me you liked me...was that just hoping that I was gay? Or did you get the impression I was?”

Dr. Coomer looked heavily embarrassed as he laughed a little. “I didn’t want to say anything, but...oh, I _really_ thought you knew, Bubby.”

Bubby couldn’t help but laugh loudly at that. “What made you think that?”

“I thought you were signaling to me! That’s why I was—well, it took me by surprise when you turned me down, for sure.” Dr. Coomer admitted. “You always made a point of telling me how any woman ‘wasn’t your type’, with that emphasis on it every time, and you were so opinionated on men, and I mean...well, I don’t want to go listing off other little things at this point, I suppose, it’s just...well, like I said, I interpreted it as you hinting.”

Bubby only laughed some more, drawing more laughter out of Dr. Coomer as well. After a quiet pause, Bubby let out a long sigh. “...Well. That explains a lot.”

“Well, regardless, with that in mind, thank you for not making it a big deal when you turned me down back then.” Dr. Coomer said. “Handling a rejection and comments on my sexuality in one night would have been fairly miserable.”

“I mean—yeah, of course.” Bubby muttered. “It’s not like I cared about _that._ At least, not at the time, I guess. It’s...good to have you to talk to about this, though. So, uh...thanks.”

“Of course! I’m so happy you felt safe coming to me for this.” Dr. Coomer said warmly, holding Bubby closer.

“Well...you’re, uh...” Bubby swallowed hard. “You’re my best friend. So...yeah. Of course I would.”

“Oh, Bubby, you’re one of my best friends, too!” Dr. Coomer said so happily, despite the “one of” making a secretly uncomfortable feeling rise up in Bubby.

 _Oh._ So that’s what that feeling was, Bubby suddenly realized—it hit him like a train, just even deeper confirming Bubby’s feelings towards Dr. Coomer. He was jealous. Oh, Christ, Bubby thought—he didn’t want to be jealous like that. Was that an understandable response? He wondered. Or was he just being a bad friend?

Bubby pulled away from Dr. Coomer, missing the warmth of his arms around him as he crossed his own over his chest. “I...m-maybe we should get back to your party.”

“Well, we don’t have to right away.” Dr. Coomer said gently. “Are you alright? I can just call it off, and we can talk it out as much as you need. I know how overwhelming it can feel, coming to terms with something like this.”

“Christ, Coomer, we don’t have to call off your fucking birthday party so you can console me all night just for realizing I might like men.” Bubby huffed, rolling his eyes.

“You don’t need to downplay it if you’re having trouble with this.” Dr. Coomer told him seriously. “I love you, Bubby. I truly don’t mind dropping my party for this.”

Bubby’s stomach twisted with anxiety. He was so much more confused than he wanted to admit, and those few words— _I love you_ —rang like a bell in Bubby’s head. He turned to him, finally looking Dr. Coomer in the eye.

“I, uh...” Bubby cleared his throat. “I...love you, too.”

Dr. Coomer smiled at first, before he seemed to realize the weight Bubby said it with, and he looked away. Bubby watched him with panic rising in his stomach so strongly, he wanted to throw up—hadn’t Dr. Coomer liked him? Why had his smile fallen, why was he averting his eyes, and why did he look like he was at a loss for words as he tugged at his hair anxiously?

“Bubby...” Dr. Coomer said, finally looking back up at him with a forced smile. “I’d hoped I could tell you this under better circumstances. But...well, as Veronica and I were getting the wine from your dorm, she...told me the same thing.”

Bubby looked down into his lap. “...Oh. So...you’re already with her?”

“We can discuss this, though.” Dr. Coomer said hopefully, squeezing Bubby’s shoulder. “You, me, and Veronica—we can all sit down and talk about it!”

Bubby felt nauseous as he sat there. “Uhhh...I-I guess...if you want to.” He muttered shakily, no matter how deeply he despised the idea.

Dr. Coomer took a deep breath as he nodded. “Okay. Perhaps not tonight, maybe...tomorrow, instead. We can have dinner and talk. Does that sound okay?”

Bubby just nodded reluctantly.

“Alright. Uhh—are you...okay?” Dr. Coomer asked carefully.

Bubby gave Dr. Coomer an unimpressed look. “All in the past 20 minutes, I got asked out by a woman, realized I was gay, came out and confessed to you, and found out you just got in a relationship. I’m probably doing about how you would expect.”

Dr. Coomer nodded in understanding. “Right. Of course. Well, is there anything I can do for you?”

Bubby shook his head and stood. “...No. Um, sorry to skip out on the rest of your party, but I think I need to just...go think about things. Alone.”

“Of course, Bubby.” Dr. Coomer replied as he stood as well. “Well, I’ll talk with Veronica tonight, and we’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Yeah. Tomorrow.” Bubby echoed. He hesitated in front of Dr. Coomer. Dr. Coomer was always the one who initiated hugs, often exactly when Bubby needed it; right now, though, as Bubby realized he was hoping for a departing hug, he was instead keeping his distance. Bubby moved around him, pausing at the door. “Goodnight, Coomer. Uhh—happy birthday.”

Dr. Coomer gave Bubby a clearly anxious smile. “Thank you, Bubby. Goodnight.”

****

It was 5:00, and Harold hadn’t finished making dinner, yet. He rushed to put the final touches on the pasta—it was supposed to be simple, but he’d spent too much time pacing back and forth in his dorm before realizing he should start cooking, and now he was still going to be cooking when Bubby and Veronica arrived. He didn’t want anything to be awkward between the two of them before he could truly sit down and join their conversation; maybe he’d put on a show, ask them to get comfortable and watch that as he finished cooking? He contemplated. That plan was quickly ruined as he heard the door opening.

Harold took a deep breath and put on a warm smile for them as he peered around the corner to the front door. Bubby _and_ Veronica entered at the same time; Bubby looked characteristically awkward, given the circumstances, while Veronica seemed to be doing that _deflecting_ thing that Harold himself had a tendency to do as well—in fact, he was doing it right now. They both smiled at each other while Bubby wore his discomfort on his sleeve.

“Ah! Hello, you two. Go ahead and get comfortable, I’m almost done.” Harold said, quickly turning back to the stove.

What a whirlwind of a birthday party, Harold thought with a quiet sigh as he focused on finishing dinner. So much happened in just the span of one hour, it made being friendly at the remainder of the party a bit of a strain on his energy. He was feeling exhausted by now—exhausted and anxious at the same time, frankly—but he wasn’t going to let this go uncommunicated any longer than necessary. He’d been very pleased to hear Veronica was still interested in him; sort of an old flame resparked after departing from college, having to go their separate ways. He’d been so sad to leave her, and so worried it would be hopelessly awkward when she visited, but it felt like they picked right up where they left off, and Harold couldn’t be more thrilled by that. At the same time, though, _Bubby_ —what a rollercoaster _that_ whole situation was. Being certain he was flirting with him, getting rejected, then years later, he comes out as gay and confesses his feelings to him? On the same night Veronica asked Harold out again?

Harold wasn’t intent on lying. He was still interested in Bubby as well; he was, in fact, equally interested in both of them. Even if the night ended without his preferred result, he found it important to make this clear so they each had the option to do with this information as they chose.

Of course, this could mean he might lose both of them, he thought anxiously as he stirred the pasta perhaps too harshly. That would be highly disappointing, but something he was willing to risk in order to be honest with them. He cared about them both deeply; they were both his closest friends, and they deserved the truth. He was certain they could handle it, as long as he approached the subject carefully.

“...Sorry about last night, by the way.” Veronica suddenly said to Bubby. “When Tina found out I was friends with you, she kept asking me to set you two up. I didn’t want to put you in an awkward position or anything, I just...”

Harold glanced back at them, just in time to see Bubby get a deeply uncomfortable look on his face. “Whatever. It’s fine.” He interrupted, taking a deep sip of the wine Harold had already set out.

Harold hadn’t delved too much into the situation just yet with her, actually; he needed to take into consideration Bubby’s comfort levels with this, and had an extensive phone call with him last night after the party to ask what was okay to reveal to Veronica. Bubby had told Harold he preferred to come out to her directly, so that didn’t leave him much wiggle room to preemptively prepare Veronica for this conversation; so, he paused in the kitchen, waiting to see if Bubby would take this opportunity to bring it up with her.

“I, uhhh...” Bubby stopped for a long few seconds. “I guess I’m gay, actually. So...”

“Oh! Shit. I’m sorry! I-I really thought...” Veronica replied before trailing off for a moment. “Oh, god. If I’d known, I never would’ve done that, seriously.”

“Well, I didn’t know until just then either, so...you know.” Bubby muttered.

Harold took a quiet, steadying breath before putting on a casual expression and taking the pasta to the table. “Dinner’s done!” He announced, giving them each a serving. Both Bubby and Veronica looked relieved to have an excuse not to talk for the time being, so Harold went quiet, intent to let them eat and come down from that exchange before delving into the conversation he truly wanted to have.

As they were about halfway through their dinner, Harold did his best to help break the ice a little by retelling an old college story he’d remembered. Veronica laughed at the memory, though Bubby didn’t look as amused as Harold had hoped. He looked too tense; maybe something like that wasn’t going to get through to him in a moment like this, Harold mused.

So, Harold went for a different approach, hoping to relax Bubby and ease him into the intended conversation. If there was anything Bubby loved, it was science, right next to displaying proudly how much he knew about it—Harold loved that about him, and while Veronica usually had a tendency to try and take other smartasses down a few notches (he also loved that), she was always playful with Bubby about it. He initiated a conversation about some conspiracy theory documentary Bubby loved to rip apart at any opportunity, and that brought on a whole 30 minutes of heavily excited discussion about the moon landing. Harold playfully tried to defend the notion that they’d never landed on the moon at all, which got Bubby heated, and in turn, Veronica began talking about the future of space travel; from there on, Harold hardly had to say a word. He just enjoyed watching them talk about what they were passionate about, honestly—they meshed well together in moments like this, and he deeply wanted to imagine how happy they could be if they became closer as friends.

Honestly, Harold was hoping against all odds that he might date both of them. He understood Bubby likely wasn’t interested in women—that was fine, he didn’t expect him to try that route with Veronica. They could just come to an understanding, and the two of them could maybe spend more time together as well. As far as Harold was aware, the two of them had never spoken without Harold as a buffer; maybe that could change sometime soon, he hoped. They got along well enough like this—maybe they just needed a little nudge?

Their conversation went on for a little while longer. Harold didn’t want to interrupt, so as they moved to the couch, he patiently waited for them to reach the end of their conversation naturally before taking a deep breath and setting his glass of wine aside.

“So...I was hoping I could talk to you two about what happened last night.” Harold began, the words well-rehearsed in his head. “Firstly, well, as you both obviously know, Veronica and I began officially dating again last night. Then...I want to give Bubby the opportunity to say this himself, if he wants.”

Although they’d already discussed this on the phone, Bubby gave Harold a look like he was being put on the spot. Saying on the phone _he_ wanted to be the one to break the news was much easier than actually saying it out loud to Veronica, Harold thought sympathetically. He was ready to take over when Bubby didn’t say anything, but Bubby blurted it out, anyway.

“Before I knew that you two had started dating—um, _again,_ I guess—I told Harold I was...uhhh, interested in him.” Bubby admitted.

“Oh.” Veronica said simply, looking in surprise at Harold. “So, then...what are we expecting to happen?”

“Well, I don’t necessarily have _expectations._ ” Harold said anxiously. “I suppose I just wanted to make it known that I am actually interested in both of you. I don’t want to put you two on the spot—I don’t really expect this to be resolved in one night, I understand if you need to think about it. I just...well, first and foremost, I wanted to be honest about how I feel. And second off, I wanted to open things up to you two to discuss what you’re comfortable with.”

“Oh, I mean...if you wanted to date him, too, I have no issue.” Veronica said, already seeming much more relaxed, now that all the cards were on the table—Harold couldn’t help but feel relieved by that.

Harold and Veronica looked to Bubby, who had remained silent since his own confession. He looked deeply uncomfortable by the scrutiny, crossing his arms tightly over his chest.

“Uhhh...” He began, staring instead at the wall above the TV. “I-I don’t...know.”

Harold nodded. “Of course, Bubby. Take all the time you need. Please don’t feel pressured into anything you’re uncomfortable with.”

Bubby stood suddenly, arms still crossed and hunched over a little as he began pacing back and forth compulsively. “I don’t—I mean...i-it’s Black Mesa. Everything I said to you before is still technically true—I told you all that at first to get out of admitting I just...thought I wasn’t into you, but what happens when you want to get married? _We_ couldn’t, for too many reasons. Then what happens when you have to retire, or if you get fired? Then—it’s not just about _us,_ it’s about Black Mesa and how I can’t...I can’t, uhh...”

Bubby trailed off, looking deeply overwhelmed as he paused close to the dining table. Harold stood, not wanting to get too close and cross any boundaries, but still wanting to comfort him; he squeezed his upper arm, though, hoping it was enough.

“Bubby...I understand the concern about Black Mesa.” Harold said carefully. “I’m sure we could figure something out, though. Right? Couldn’t we _try_ to do something about your circumstances?”

Bubby frowned, curling in more on himself. “N-no. No, we can’t. Black Mesa has too much control, and you deserve better.” He said, voice shaking. “I could never go to the surface with you, for any reason whatsoever. Could you fucking _imagine_ having that hanging over your head? Knowing if your boyfriend has to leave Black Mesa for good, you’ll never see him again? I-...I couldn’t handle it. I really, _really_ couldn’t handle that.”

Harold paused for a long moment before replying gently. “...I’m sorry, Bubby. I understand. I’m sorry I pushed it.”

Bubby bit his lower lip, slowly moving his hand towards Harold’s. He brushed his fingers over Harold’s, as if he was testing out how it felt now, before pulling away entirely and rubbing his eyes underneath his glasses.

“I have to go.” He said. “S-sorry. It’s just—I don’t know. I think I made my point already, I’ll just leave.”

“You don’t _have_ to leave. We could still spend the evening together, if you’d like.” Harold said hopefully.

Bubby shook his head, hurrying towards the door. “No, no. I—I can’t. Um...bye.”

Before Harold could say anything else, Bubby was already out the door. Harold let out a deep sigh as he sank down on the couch beside Veronica.

“...I’m sorry.” Veronica said gently, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

Harold nodded slowly. “...Oh, he’s right. I suppose it wouldn’t work out between us. It would...put us at an unfair imbalance, I think, given his situation.”

“What _is_ his situation?”

“Oh—shoot, I don’t want to say too much.” Harold said, fiddling with his fingers as he leaned in close to rest his head on her shoulder. “It’s not my business to be telling you all that. It’s just...well, I suppose regardless of whether _we’re_ dating as well, it still wouldn’t be ideal conditions. It’s just...”

Harold tried to keep his voice even, but truly, the rejection stung all over again for entirely different reasons. Knowing for a fact Bubby had feelings for him, dredging all that back up in Harold after years of trying to move on—it was almost too much, all within the span of hardly 24 hours. He couldn’t imagine how Bubby was feeling right now.

“Sorry. I don’t want to get too hung up on this.” Harold laughed, wiping away tears that began to form in his eyes. “His circumstances are much more painful than anything I’m going through as a result of all this, after all. All I want is for him to find happiness however he can.”

Veronica nodded sympathetically. “Yeah. Still, though, it sucks.”

Harold sighed deeply. “It really, truly does.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> things i learned thru writing this: vhs was very new when the grease movie came out. i've also never seen grease!


	5. Chapter 5

They seemed happy.

Bubby told himself that every day, rather than giving into his immediate reaction of wanting to run far away and scream whenever he saw them together. What he told Dr. Coomer was right; he deserved better than to have a boyfriend trapped in Black Mesa, and Bubby could never deal with what felt like the inevitable heartbreak of being separated forcibly. He didn’t want that looming over his relationship, and he was certain Dr. Coomer didn’t deserve that, either.

At least the two of them gave Bubby the dignity of not acting strange about displaying affection in front of him after the first couple of days. The only thing that would make him feel worse was the mutual feeling of awkwardness between them; he was an adult man, he could handle watching his best friend that he also happened to be in love with kiss someone else.

At least, he _wanted_ to be able to handle that. So he tried very, very hard for them. It wouldn’t be fair to ask anything else of them anyway—Bubby had no right to tell Dr. Coomer how to act around his girlfriend. Even if they were _very_ affectionate in public, to the clear annoyance of others. Bubby couldn’t be surprised that Dr. Coomer was _that_ type of man, of course, considering he was almost as affectionate towards Bubby in their friendship prior to his birthday—which, wow, that put so much into perspective on Bubby’s end once they’d finally talked about it. He wouldn’t have blamed anyone looking at them for assuming they were dating this whole time, he realized with a significant amount of embarrassment.

It got easier with time, at least. He wasn’t entirely sure how easy it would be to ever move past his feelings for Dr. Coomer, honestly—he didn’t talk to enough people, it still felt like his entire world was work and Dr. Coomer—but after a few years, he only got a twinge of disappointment when he saw him and Veronica happy together, mostly buried under genuine happiness to see his friend in a loving relationship. He deserved it. He deserved anything good that came to him and more, Bubby always thought.

Black Mesa didn’t seem to be on the same page about that, though. As Dr. Coomer and Bubby arrived in their sector, they went about their usual morning routine; collecting their mail, Dr. Coomer paying much closer attention to his than Bubby paid his own as they drank coffee leisurely, then they’d head to their office and start looking over the planned tests for the day, figuring out where to start from there.

Bubby was done tossing out a mess of company memos—all he ever got, pretty much, aside from an envelope once a month containing one of his prepaid cards, ready to finish off his coffee before he heard an indignant noise from Dr. Coomer. Bubby frowned, glancing over at him.

“What is it?” Bubby asked.

“They’re cutting a _lot_ of employee benefits!” Dr. Coomer complained, nodding down to the letter he’d received. “Costs of insurance are going up, they’re cutting our pension—this is just outrageous.”

Bubby frowned deeply. “Oh. So—what are you going to do?”

Dr. Coomer sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know. I mean, this is going to really hurt my retirement fund, not to mention what I’m sending back home to help my sister take care of our parents...”

Bubby stared at Dr. Coomer. “Wait, you have a sister?”

Dr. Coomer glanced at Bubby. “Oh, yes, I do. It’s just—well, my relationship with her and our parents isn’t nearly as relevant.” He said dismissively. “During lunch, I’m going to have to go over all of this some more, see how bad it’s going to hit my finances.”

Bubby’s stomach churned. If it was too much and Dr. Coomer knew of somewhere better to work, would he leave Black Mesa entirely? He wondered.

“Well—if you need help, I have a lot of savings.” Bubby offered.

“Oh, no, no, Bubby. I’m sure it’ll be perfectly fine. I’d never ask you to give anything up for me.” Dr. Coomer said, smiling kindly for him. “Let’s just get to work, shall we?”

Dr. Coomer didn’t talk any more about it in the next couple weeks—at least, around Bubby—but he heard plenty of displeased chatter about the new benefit cuts. It sounded trivial to Bubby at first, but apparently, it was a much bigger deal than he’d imagined—not that Bubby had any need for insurance or a pension plan, so he couldn’t be expected to truly understand. As he eavesdropped on the tram and in the cafeteria near his and Dr. Coomer’s lab, he heard plenty of gossip about people who were quitting, discussion of potential strikes, and more. Tensions were high in Black Mesa, to say the least.

Still, they had plenty of work to do, despite all the drama. Bubby was stood in the lab with Dr. Coomer, fully immersed in a test when the dreaded noise of his phone ringing shocked him out of his thoughts.

“What?” He demanded. “I’m fucking busy.”

“Oh, sorry to bother.” A voice decidedly _not_ belonging to the head of biological research said. Bubby didn’t say anything—the fact remained true, he was still annoyed and busy. “You’ve worked in the biodome complex before, correct?”

“Yeah, a few years ago.” Bubby replied. “Why?”

“Well, we’re _highly_ understaffed here right now, and we need an extra pair of hands...if you’re busy, though, we can probably make do.” The scientist said on the other end.

Bubby paused to think about it, glancing back at Dr. Coomer. “...What, are you doing some sort of test today?”

“Yes, something highly time-sensitive. I wouldn’t ask otherwise.” The scientist said, sounding deeply exhausted.

“...Hold on.” Bubby said, pressing his palm to the receiver so the scientist on the other end couldn’t hear. “Coomer, are we on schedule?”

Dr. Coomer glanced at the board behind him. “Yes, looks like it—ahead, in fact.”

“Hmmm.” Bubby hummed thoughtfully. “The biodome complex needs help today. I might go help them out, if we’re fine up here.”

“Oh, that sounds perfectly fine.” Dr. Coomer replied, rifling through some papers on his desk. “By the looks of it, I could even get the rest of the day’s work done myself, if I need to. I’ve already done so before.”

Bubby put the phone back to his ear. “Yeah, I’ll head up. I’ll be about...20 minutes, I think.”

The scientist was highly thankful, wasting too much of Bubby’s valuable time thanking him over and over before Bubby hung up the phone. He said goodbye to Dr. Coomer, gave a tentative promise to be back before dinner, and headed up to the biodome complex.

That wasn’t the last time Bubby was called upon to help other departments. He considered just telling them no, he was too busy, etc—but he couldn’t deny that despite how he’d been content to stay in his little mini-department with Dr. Coomer for so long, new, stimulating work was doing him a lot of favors. He’d forgotten how much he enjoyed hopping departments like this; so he obliged when he was called upon.

He’d been walking between two different labs, asked to spend half his day in one and head on over to the other after lunch, when he found someone familiar walking down the hall ahead of him, staring down at a thick stack of papers. Bubby stared at her, only speaking up once they began to pass each other.

“Hello, Veronica.” He greeted. “Isn’t the lab for the Borealis project in Sector H?”

Veronica looked up from her stack of papers, jumping in surprise at Bubby’s voice. “Oh! Well—yes. I just had a...meeting up here. What are _you_ doing here? Don’t you usually work in Sector C?”

“Normally. I’ve just been helping other departments.” Bubby reminded her, unable to resist his curiosity as he glanced down at the papers she was holding. It looked like unfilled forms, with “UNITED STATES ARMY” in bold letters at the top.

Veronica held the papers closer to her chest. “Right, yeah. I remember now. Umm...well, good luck today.”

Bubby nodded slowly. “You, too.”

Bubby watched her bustle down the hall, clearly in a hurry to get away. Bubby hummed thoughtfully as he proceeded to the lab. He paused at the door, though, glancing further down the hallway at an office he never paid any mind to.

The military had a presence at Black Mesa—it was highly affiliated with the US government, after all. They had several offices throughout the facility, where their daily operations were a complete mystery to Bubby. He despised not knowing, if he was honest—he knew almost every dark secret Black Mesa had to offer, and yet he had no idea why the military had offices here. It wasn’t like he ever saw soldiers walking around the facility; it stood to reason that they were always dressed up in plain clothes, which seemed odd. Like they were trying to mitigate people noticing there were soldiers right under their noses. Bubby wondered what Veronica knew about it, if she seemed curious about applying.

Bubby decided to push the thought aside for now. He had a lot of work to get to.

****

Bubby rarely had cause to visit the administrator of Black Mesa. A lot of the time, if he had any concerns or requests regarding his “employment”, he’d talk to the head of the biological research department—sometimes, though, he needed someone a little higher up to discuss his issues with than merely the head of biological research. This seemed as important a matter as any to talk to Dr. Breen about, Bubby resolved as he let himself into his office.

Dr. Breen glanced up from his paperwork, immediately turning his gaze back down to his work as Bubby shut the door behind him and approached the desk.

“Ah, Bubby. What brings you here today?” He asked half-heartedly.

“You realize how many employees you’re losing right now, right?” Bubby questioned. “I’ve been requested to help so many departments recently, I’m pulling 12 to 16, sometimes 18 hour days just to help some departments meet your expectations.”

“Well, you’re a resilient man. I’ve never heard you complain about hours like that before.” Dr. Breen pointed out, still writing as he spoke.

“It’s not about _me._ ” Bubby half-lied. Truthfully, although he loved long hours like this before just to keep himself busy, he’d become much more soft after spending so much time with Dr. Coomer recently; a 12 hour day was standard before becoming lab partners with him, and now, it just felt grueling. “I’m only one person. These departments should be able to operate completely on their own without _me_ showing up to do half the work for them. Are you really going to keep this up?”

“Keep _what_ up?” Dr. Breen asked, finally looking up at Bubby.

“That fucking employee benefits cut or whatever it is.” Bubby said impatiently. “Everyone’s quitting because of it. Do you have _any_ plans to mitigate that?”

“Not that this is _any_ of your concern, Bubby, but things are running perfectly fine here.” Dr. Breen said, leaning back in his chair calmly. “Departments are meeting their requirements at, what, almost half the staff? I think that just goes to show we didn’t need that many employees in the first place.”

Bubby scoffed. “Yeah, _you’d_ say that, just looking at the numbers up here in your office without seeing how hard everyone’s working down there.”

“Whatever happened to a good work ethic?” Dr. Breen sighed, returning to his paperwork. “If you truly think it’s such an issue, I’ll look into it. I thank you for bringing this to my attention, Bubby, but I _am_ rather busy at the moment. If you would show yourself out, please.”

Bubby sighed in frustration, giving Dr. Breen no pleasantries before turning to leave.

It had been a few months since employee retention dropped—too many months of too many long nights spent without Dr. Coomer’s company. He decided as he headed back to the tram he’d blow off a non-essential test tonight to make boxing club instead. Plunging himself into work was an easy way not to think about his feelings towards him, of course, but he could only take so much of that before he grew excessively lonely.

Bubby arrived just a couple minutes late, catching Dr. Coomer’s eye as they seemed to still be preparing themselves for matches. It was an incredibly poor turnout, and everyone there looked exhausted. Bubby set his work bag aside as Dr. Coomer approached him with a wide smile.

“You made it!” He said excitably as he hugged Bubby tightly. “It’s so good to see you here again, Bubby. It’s been too long!”

Bubby was embarrassed to discover how deeply he’d honestly needed a good hug—it really had been _much_ too long. He sighed in contentment, hugging Dr. Coomer back.

“Don’t count on me not passing out down here.” Bubby grumbled. “I’m pretty fucking tired.”

“Oh, Bubby, if you have the spare time, maybe you ought to rest, instead.” Dr. Coomer suggested as he pulled away.

“As far as I’m concerned, this _is_ resting.” Bubby argued. “Go do your boxing thing, I’ll just sit down over there.”

“Oh, alright.” Dr. Coomer caved, pulling him in for one last tight hug before turning to rejoin the others. “Do try not to pass out, though!”

“Yeah, yeah.” Bubby said dismissively as he sat down in one of the few chairs in the room, as promised.

It had been too long since Bubby got to watch Dr. Coomer box. Honestly, as he sat there watching for the first time in at least a month or so, he was beginning to wonder all over again how he had vehemently denied his feelings for him all that time. He couldn’t ignore anymore how much he loved watching him beat the shit out of his coworkers—in retrospect, it put the intense feelings he got when he watched him fight into perspective. Bubby, despite all the complicated feelings of their situation, found himself glad he came down to watch again.

Bubby glanced up in surprise as he heard the door open halfway through the usual meeting time. Dr. Coomer was currently engaged in a fight, pausing mid-punch as he looked towards the door. Veronica stood in the doorway, holding a packet close to her chest as she looked at Dr. Coomer.

“Hey, um...sorry to interrupt.” Veronica said sheepishly. “Could we talk, Harold?”

“Oh! Of course.” Dr. Coomer replied, pulling his gloves off to join Veronica out in the hall.

Well, this certainly wasn’t Bubby’s business, he thought as he sat there—but he’d never truly stamped out his habit of snooping, and hated being in the dark on things. He stood and leaned against the wall by the door, ignoring the prying eyes of other boxing club members as he strained to listen in on the conversation.

“But _why?_ ” Dr. Coomer asked with a level of dismay Bubby had rarely ever heard from him. “I thought you agreed with me on this before!”

“I _did_ , before Black Mesa cut our benefits.” She insisted. “I’m sorry, Harold. I know this is a lot. It’s just—I’ll be losing a lot of money when this change takes effect. I’ll still be in Black Mesa, it’s not like I’m going off to serve anywhere else.”

“Yes, but—it’s sort of the principle of the thing.” Dr. Coomer argued. “Besides, I can’t truly imagine they’ll keep that promise.”

“Harold...” Veronica sighed, pausing for a long moment. “I’m sorry. I already signed up and took the tests, gave my notice to Black Mesa—everything. I just have some things to finish up here, then I leave for basic next month.”

It was silent in the hall for a moment before Dr. Coomer finally spoke.

“Um...I-I’m going back to the club.”

“...Okay.” Veronica muttered. “See you later?”

“Y-yeah. Of course. See you later.”

Bubby watched Dr. Coomer carefully as he reentered the room, closing the door gently behind him. He looked surprised to see Bubby where he was.

“Were you listening?” He asked, nudging Bubby in the same playful manner as always, but his smile was highly strained.

“...Kinda. Sorry.” Bubby admitted guiltily. “Wanna talk about it?”

Dr. Coomer let out a deep sigh, running his fingers through his hair. “Well...not now. Maybe later.” He muttered, picking up his gloves again.

Bubby sat back down, watching Dr. Coomer get back to his match. He looked like he needed it now; by the time he’d defeated the other scientist, he looked clearer, more at ease as he moved to the edge of the room to chug some water. He ambled closer to Bubby afterward, leaning against the wall with a deep sigh.

“How much did you hear?” Dr. Coomer asked.

“That she’s joining the military.” Bubby replied sheepishly.

“...It’s...not the first time she’s brought it up.” Dr. Coomer said slowly, crossing his arms. “She’s sort of thought about it a few times in her life. I kept thinking I’d convinced her not to, then she’d bring it up again—I feel like this is less about the money, and more an excuse to join. It’s...so strange, the way she acts like she understands my stance before it just completely falls through all over again. I feel like we keep talking in circles every time.”

Bubby nodded sympathetically, unsure what to say.

“I guess it’s too late to change her mind again.” Dr. Coomer muttered. “I wish she’d _told_ me she was considering it again in the first place. I mean—it’s her decision, ultimately, but I should have had the space to tell her how it would affect our relationship, right? Or is that unfair?”

“Uhh—I don’t know.” Bubby admitted awkwardly. “That sounds reasonable to me.”

“This is the only thing she’s been so strange about, I think.” Dr. Coomer continued, twirling his hair thoughtfully. “She’s always been good about communicating with everything else. It’s just...it makes me feel like that job is more important to her than me.”

Bubby felt like he was grappling at straws to figure out anything comforting to say. Instead of saying anything, he settled to stand up and tentatively reach out for his hand. He didn’t initiate contact with Dr. Coomer very often—Dr. Coomer rarely gave him the chance to—but it felt right in the moment to squeeze his hand when he couldn’t figure out what to say. Dr. Coomer looked up at Bubby with a small, exhausted smile.

“Thanks for being here, Bubby.” Dr. Coomer sighed. “I appreciate it a lot. You’re a good friend.”

“Sorry all this is happening.” Bubby said. “Do you...know what you’re going to do?”

Dr. Coomer shook his head. “No. Not yet. I suppose I have to sleep on it. So...I’m going to head back to my dorm, then.”

Bubby walked back to the dorms with Dr. Coomer, giving him a departing hug before going their separate ways. Too exhausted to do anything else after a long day of work, Bubby headed straight for bed—still, though, thoughts about Dr. Coomer’s relationship hung over him.

He’d grown a little less kneejerk resentful towards her over the years; he had to rationalize and think through his feelings less and less around her, until it became easy to just exist around the two. That was how Bubby knew his feelings of frustration weren’t inherently _jealousy_ —Dr. Coomer stating he felt like the job was prioritized over him echoed in Bubby’s head over and over. He couldn’t imagine how Dr. Coomer would be feeling.

He wished, more than anything else, he could give Dr. Coomer better.

****

In the days that followed, Bubby tried his best to make as much time as he could for Dr. Coomer, but Black Mesa was just as understaffed as before; he spent a lot of nights overworking himself, and when he finally had the time to visit Dr. Coomer’s dorm, he was unwilling to talk about his relationship with Veronica. He seemed exhausted and thoughtful every time Bubby saw him, though—his deeply nosy nature made him wish Dr. Coomer would just spit it out, but he resisted the urge to push him on it and kept his distance.

It was a full week after that night when Bubby was sat in his dorm after a relatively short 12 hour day, eager to recuperate as much as he could before there was a knock at his door. He stood, already knowing straight away that it was Dr. Coomer from the particular rhythm he always knocked with.

“Bubby!” Dr. Coomer greeted with a smile, Bubby already stood to the side to let him in. “I’m so glad you’re home, I wasn’t sure if you’d be working late again tonight.”

“I hate how 12 hours is considered early these days for us.” Bubby griped as he moved to flop down on the couch. Dr. Coomer had stopped in front of it, though, fiddling with his fingers anxiously, so Bubby stood in front of him instead. “What brings you here tonight?”

“Well—oh, goodness, sorry, I’m nervous to ask this.” Dr. Coomer said, flapping his hands and bouncing on his heels. Bubby couldn’t quite get a read on him—he looked so conflicted. Nervous, but excited? He took a deep breath, though, stepping forward to grasp Bubby’s hands tightly in his own. “Veronica and I came to...an understanding, I suppose, after talking it out the past few days. And the other night, well—oh, I can hardly say it!”

“What, Coomer? Spit it out already.” Bubby said impatiently.

Dr. Coomer smiled. Bubby wasn’t sure what it was that made his stomach churn now—something about the way he squeezed his hands, the way he seemed uncharacteristically exhausted, not as boisterous as he might be when he was excited—but Bubby detected something strange about it all. Likely, he was just tired and overworked, Bubby thought dismissively.

Finally, Dr. Coomer wrapped Bubby up in a tight hug, lifting him off the floor and spinning him a few times. “Veronica and I are getting married!”

“Oh! _Oh._ ” Bubby blurted out as Dr. Coomer put him down, holding him by his shoulders. “What about—I mean...the whole military thing?”

“Well, we talked about it extensively, and...I suppose she made a very compelling argument.” Dr. Coomer said, averting his eyes for a moment. “But then—I mean, I guess things moved so fast from there. She told me she didn’t want any of that to damage our relationship, and I agreed, and...well, for a number of reasons, we thought that getting married could help that significantly, so she proposed! We’re going to have the ceremony before she leaves.”

Bubby felt nauseous, struggling to do his best in looking supportive for Dr. Coomer. “Oh—well, that’s...I’m happy for you, Coomer.”

“ _And,_ Bubby...” Dr. Coomer went on, sliding his hands down Bubby’s arms to grasp his hands again. “I can’t think of anybody else in the world I’d want to be my best man.”

“ _Me?_ ” Bubby asked incredulously. “I—Coomer, I can’t.”

Dr. Coomer frowned, squeezing his hands tightly. “Why not?”

“Well—I can’t leave Black Mesa.” Bubby reminded him.

Dr. Coomer nodded with a deeply hopeful look in his eyes, stepping in closer to Bubby. “Under normal circumstances, no. But we were hoping that an exception might be made for our ceremony—it _is_ a special occasion, after all. Who would we talk to?”

Bubby frowned deeply. “Uhh...I mean, a request that big, it’d probably save a lot of time to go straight to Dr. Breen.” Bubby said thoughtfully. “I-I don’t know, though. I’ve...never been off of Black Mesa property, before. I have no idea how to be a best man, I don’t—you might be better off choosing someone else.”

“We only have a couple of weeks to plan, Bubby, it’s not going to be a complicated wedding. Mostly, I just...would like you to be there.” Dr. Coomer said gently. “There’s no harm in _trying,_ right? Otherwise, if they say no, we can always have the wedding on Black Mesa grounds.”

Bubby couldn’t help a bitter, surprised laugh at that. “A wedding at _Black Mesa?_ Are you sure you’d go that far just for _me_ to be there?”

“Well, it’s not exactly postcard worthy, no, but I’d have my wedding anywhere in the world as long as we could ensure you’d be there.” Dr. Coomer insisted. “We could have a wedding in the boxing club room, just me, you, and Veronica, for all I care! It’s very, _very_ important to me that you’re there.”

Well, there was no way Bubby could back out of _that._ He took in a deep breath and nodded slowly. “...Yeah. Okay. I’ll talk to Breen, then. Hopefully, it shouldn’t come to having a fucking wedding in the most miserable place on this goddamn planet.”

Dr. Coomer grinned and hugged Bubby close again. “Oh, thank you, Bubby! That means so much to me. Thank you for being so supportive.”

“Yeah. Sure.” Bubby replied, voice strained by how tightly Dr. Coomer hugged him. “It’s...the least I could do, as your best man.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: forced sedation

Bubby rehearsed the words in his head many times during his trip up to Dr. Breen’s office. His last discussion with him about employee retention hadn’t gone too poorly, all things considered; his relationship with the administrator had been tense at first, to say the least, but seemed to be calming down these days, now that Bubby was less intent on escaping. So, he tentatively held the tiniest glimmer of hope that Dr. Breen might be reasonable for once as he knocked on his office door.

“Dr. Breen?” Bubby called in.

Dr. Breen was sat at his desk like expected, phone held to his ear. He held up a finger, saying a few more hasty words into the phone before he hung it up and gave Bubby his attention.

“Ah, Bubby, come in.” He invited, waving him in. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Bubby closed the door behind him and approached, sitting down in the chair in front of his desk. “I wanted to request permission to leave the facility for a day.”

“...Ah. Straight to the point, I see.” Dr. Breen sighed. “I can’t permit you to leave Black Mesa grounds, Bubby. You know that.”

“Well, you see, it’s a special occasion.” Bubby insisted. “My...lab partner is getting married soon. He wanted me to be his best m—”

“A wedding?” Dr. Breen questioned. “Now, Bubby, I would consider it if it was something that would benefit your research, but a _wedding?_ ”

“...Yes, a wedding.” Bubby said firmly.

Bubby’s face burned hot with humiliation as Dr. Breen laughed. “I’m sure your lab partner will get on just fine without your presence there, Bubby. I can’t know what sorts of things you’ll want to get up to out there, or who might squeeze some confidential information out of you! You’re a top secret project! I wouldn’t just let someone take any of our other confidential projects out for a spin in public, would I?”

“I’m not going to run off and tell everyone about Black Mesa projects!” Bubby argued, gripping the arms of his chair tightly. “I’d only be there to support my friend! You can assign as many guards as you want to watch over me while I’m there, I don’t care, I just want to be there!”

“You want me to divert security funding and manpower to a _wedding_ just to babysit you for a day?” Dr. Breen asked him. “No, Bubby. Your request is denied. Now, head on back to work. I’ve got plenty of things to get done today, and I’m sure you do, too.”

Bubby slammed his fist down on Dr. Breen’s desk as he tried to get back to what he’d been doing, bringing his attention back to him. “No!” Bubby barked. “I’m not leaving until you let me go to Dr. Coomer’s wedding!”

“Now, Bubby, there’s no reason to get aggressive.” Dr. Breen said in a collected tone, hand moving slowly for his phone. “We wouldn’t want you to have to go back into the lab for tests to be run, would we?”

Bubby growled, standing up to his full height and putting two fingers to his temple. “It would be a real shame if your desk caught on fire as well, wouldn’t it?” He retorted.

Dr. Breen hit a button on his phone. “Guards, get in here!” He shouted.

Bubby focused hard, and in a flash, Dr. Breen’s desk was in flames. Dr. Breen cried out and leapt out of his chair, grabbing a fire extinguisher from the corner of his office and spraying the desk down as the door smashed open behind Bubby. Bubby turned just in time to watch two guards bustle in, guns pointed at him.

“No, no, don’t shoot him.” Dr. Breen said dismissively. “Just take him back to the lab, tell ‘em I said to run a full diagnostic and report back to me.”

The two of them holstered their guns and grabbed onto each of Bubby’s upper arms. Bubby wrenched himself free, utilizing his superior strength for the first time in a very long time.

“Don’t fucking touch me! I’m not going back!” Bubby exclaimed, backing away from the guards until he collided with Dr. Breen’s smoldering desk.

He had his fingers to his temple again, ready to set something—or someone—else on fire before he felt a familiar sharp jab in his shoulder. He looked to his side, finding Dr. Breen injecting something from a syringe into his arm—he knew from far too much experience it was a sedative. He had a few moments of full lucidity that he used to set one of the guards’ vests on fire, but as Dr. Breen put him out, his movements grew sluggish. His legs quickly collapsed underneath him, and the unaffected guard hoisted him up to carry him on his shoulders.

“You can’t...do this to me...” Bubby managed to say before the world around him went black.

****

Bubby woke up to a familiar, green blur around him, the sounds of the outside world muffled and distorted. His body had already long adjusted to breathing the perfluorocarbon, and tubes had already been connected to his back and stomach. Sometime during the whole process, he’d already been changed into the awful skin-tight wetsuit always worn in the tube as well; he missed the much more pleasant feelings of his own clothes. He pressed his hands to the glass, watching as indistinct figures in lab coats walked back and forth in the room around him, saying things he couldn’t make out.

Bubby gripped his hand into a fist and slammed it against the glass several times, getting the attention of the scientists. He instinctively tried to form words, but the liquid in his throat and lungs made it impossible to speak comprehensively. He resorted to hitting and kicking at the glass furiously instead.

“Bubby, please stop struggling.” A voice said into the speaker inside the tube. “You could disconnect one of your tubes.”

 _Good,_ Bubby wanted to say, but instead he just struggled harder until his muscles grew exhausted from thrashing around too much. Too many years of experience told him it was useless; he finally resigned himself to just floating in there, complying with the scientists’ usual diagnostic requests. Eventually, two indistinct figures approached, too blurry to make out until one of them pressed himself up against the glass. A lump formed in Bubby’s throat, and he wrapped his arms around himself self-consciously. It was Dr. Coomer.

One of the scientists handed him what he knew to be a little radio connected to one of the computers with a wire. He fiddled with it for a moment before Bubby could hear his voice. “Bubby? Bubby, can you hear me?”

Bubby didn’t react. He just averted his eyes shamefully.

“Bubby, please respond.” Dr. Coomer pleaded, pressing a hand against the glass of the tube.

Bubby frowned, slowly reaching out to place his fingers over Dr. Coomer’s palm and nodding.

“I’m so sorry, Bubby. I’m so, so sorry.” Dr. Coomer said, his voice shaking. “I didn’t realize it would lead to this, I—I just wanted you to be able to go outside and enjoy yourself for a day, I wanted your support at my wedding, I...I’m sorry.”

Bubby wanted to reassure him it wasn’t his fault—he _could,_ he knew sign language, but he felt something aching in his chest as he started to try and communicate. He stopped and looked away instead. Dr. Coomer was quiet for a moment, gently pressing his forehead against the glass. Bubby gripped his chest and did the same, the only thing keeping them from contact being the thick layer of glass between them. Soon, the other figure beside Dr. Coomer tapped his shoulder to get his attention, and they spoke for what felt like forever until Dr. Coomer spoke into the radio again.

“...I have to go, Bubby.” Dr. Coomer told him sadly. “Come find me when you get out, okay?”

Bubby nodded slowly.

Dr. Coomer pressed his palm against the glass again, and Bubby placed his own over Dr. Coomer’s until he pulled away, leaving the room with the supervision of someone else in a lab coat. The other figure had the radio, now, and a voice that made his blood boil spoke.

“I didn’t realize you’d grown so close to your lab partner, Bubby.” Dr. Breen said.

Bubby flipped him off.

“He came to me with the same concern just a few hours after we had to restrain you.” Dr. Breen went on. “I didn’t think I’d ever hear the end of it after he found out what you did. Bringing him here to see you was the only way to get him to leave me alone! It was rather touching, really—but mostly annoying.”

Bubby placed his fingers to his temples again—he knew it wouldn’t work, one of the tubes connected to him was responsible for suppressing his powers, but he reveled in the way Dr. Breen flinched back a little. Dr. Breen didn’t look too pleased as he continued to speak.

“You know you’re supposed to be confidential. We give you free reign of Black Mesa because doing so benefits us. If it _stops_ benefiting us, though...we may need to keep you contained. Telling random employees like Dr. Coomer about who you are just isn’t good for business.”

Bubby bared his teeth as he signed at Dr. Breen. “No! You _know_ you need me out there!”

“Calm down, Bubby. I know what a valuable asset you are, so I’m willing to look past it!” Dr. Breen said in a tone that suggested he was trying to sound comforting, but it just came out condescending. “Just give me your word you won’t tell _anyone_ else.”

Bubby’s fingernails threatened to puncture the skin of his palms, but he slowly nodded.

“Good. Don’t forget your place here, Bubby. I can always have you put back into containment.” Dr. Breen handed the radio off to one of the scientists and turned to leave.

Bubby rested his forehead against the glass again, waiting a while for the scientists to release him. The tube finally began to drain, and all the smaller tubes connected to his body disengaged. He violently coughed the perfluorocarbon out of his lungs, bracing himself weakly against the glass until the liquid was drained enough for him to sit and keep his head above it. Once it was completely gone, he curled up on the floor of the tube, still coughing and shivering. He hadn’t adjusted back to normal air in a long time; he’d forgotten how fucking miserable it was. Finally, the glass slid open, and a couple of the scientists helped him up and draped a blanket over his shoulders. He was sat in one of the spare desk chairs off to the side until he was strong enough to stand on his own, collecting his clothes and changing before slowly dragging himself back towards the dorms.

Eventually, he reached his own dorm, settling to take a long hot shower first before facing Dr. Coomer. At this time of day, he’d probably still be in the office—but he wasn’t even sure he had the energy to make the trip all the way there. He picked up his phone and dialed the extension for Dr. Coomer’s desk.

“Hello?” Dr. Coomer asked on the other end.

“Dr. Coomer, it’s...it’s me.” Bubby replied weakly.

“Bubby!” Dr. Coomer exclaimed. “Are you okay? Where are you?”

“I’m back in my dorm. But—”

“I’m on my way! I’ll be there soon.” Dr. Coomer hung up immediately after that, leaving Bubby with the droning dial tone. Bubby slowly hung up the phone as well and wrapped himself in his blanket from his bedroom, curling up on his couch until Dr. Coomer arrived.

Dr. Coomer didn’t even knock—he just burst into the room, sitting beside Bubby and throwing his arms around him to hold him close. Bubby didn’t hug back, but he gave him an exhausted sigh of contentment, burying his face into Dr. Coomer’s chest.

“I’m so sorry.” Dr. Coomer told him again quietly.

“It’s not your fault.” Bubby muttered into his chest. “I lost my temper at Dr. Breen. That’s on me.”

“I can see why!” Dr. Coomer said, holding him tighter. “He’s a horrible man! I nearly decked him myself.”

Bubby snorted, nestling more comfortably into Dr. Coomer’s embrace. “I would love to see that someday.”

“Just say the word, and I’ll do it.” Dr. Coomer promised, rubbing his back gently. “I’ll be honest, though, with your powers, you could do far more damage than I ever could.”

“Oh, I’ve thought about it.”

“...Bubby?”

Bubby tilted his head up to look at Dr. Coomer. “Hm?”

“What was it like, to grow up in Black Mesa?”

Bubby frowned, burying his face in Dr. Coomer’s chest again. He didn’t have many memories of when he’d been first released from the tube—he was always fully grown, both physically and developmentally, so he couldn’t call it a “childhood”, technically. At the same time, though, he could still see the ways he’d changed. Having knowledge injected into him was one thing—getting practical use out of it, interacting with more scientists, and learning from his environment rather than the tube was another, and had provided him something he could consider “growing up”. He thought back to that time, before he’d been allowed to live in the dorms.

“I...think these recent few years have been harder, in a weird sense, than when things were technically worse.” Bubby admitted.

“Oh, no.” Dr. Coomer said miserably, holding Bubby tighter, as if he could protect him from the pains of his life if he held him just right. Well, Bubby wasn’t complaining—it felt nice to be held. “What do you mean, Bubby? How has it been harder?”

Bubby shrugged. “I mean—all that time, back before I started living in the dorms and actually _working_ in Black Mesa, I didn’t know any better. It’s...been difficult, learning over the past few years exactly how bad my situation is.”

Dr. Coomer sighed deeply, resting his chin on top of Bubby’s head. “Ah, I understand that. Our lives are very different, but in a sense, I feel I went through that same adjustment period when I left for college.”

“What _was_ your life like before Black Mesa?” Bubby asked curiously. “You never talk about your family.”

“Oh, goodness, my family.” Dr. Coomer groaned. “They’re...well, it doesn’t necessarily compare to what you’ve been through, but it was difficult in its own way, growing up with them. I...suppose I don’t really want to get into it, actually. I’m just grateful to have moved so far away. Now I have plenty of excuses not to visit.”

“That sounds nice.” Bubby murmured. “Moving far away.”

Dr. Coomer nodded. “...It is. Maybe...someday, we could achieve the same for you.”

It was a nice, hopeful sentiment. Bubby understood why he said it. It crushed him a little, though—the expectation that Dr. Coomer was rooting for a better life for him. Why did that hurt so much? Bubby wondered. Knowing that someone so close to him wanted him to have a better life should make him feel...loved, flattered, whatever—not _painful._

“Maybe.” Bubby settled to say quietly. “...Thanks, Coomer.”

Dr. Coomer stayed with Bubby the rest of that evening, and even into the night—the second night ever that Bubby fell asleep in Dr. Coomer’s arms.

****

The wedding was to be a simple affair, considering they couldn’t be too extravagant on Black Mesa property. Bubby was the one in charge of getting the event set up as Dr. Coomer’s best man. He got a lot more enjoyment than he’d expected out of bossing other people around until everything was perfect. To his surprise, members of Dr. Coomer’s family were there after all—not his sister or parents, but instead a couple cousins and an uncle he was introduced to enthusiastically. Seeing him with his family was such a shock to his system; of course he’d have family, he was born on the surface the way humans normally were, but it was just another reminder of how different Bubby was. He made hurried excuses to duck back into event preparation.

Other than just a couple stray members of Veronica’s family and some mutual college friends, that only left some coworkers to attend the event. It was a decent turnout with all the other scientists milling around, making it a little easier to hide in the crowd whenever he needed. Soon, time was running out before the event was meant to start—giving Bubby his cue to run down to Dr. Coomer’s dorm and help him prepare before he headed back up to stand on the makeshift altar. Bubby simply let himself in, met by Dr. Coomer peeking around the corner, not entirely dressed yet—he just had his slacks and a mostly unbuttoned dress shirt over his binder. Bubby averted his eyes as if he’d just walked in on him naked, closing the door behind him.

“Bubby!” Dr. Coomer greeted, enthusiastic but a tinge of anxiety in his tone. “How’s it going up there?”

“It’s fine.” Bubby answered, watching Dr. Coomer finish buttoning up his shirt out of the corner of his eye. “Your cousins are very chatty. Just like you.”

Dr. Coomer snorted, waving for Bubby to follow as he disappeared around the corner again. Bubby followed him back to his bedroom, where he had the rest of his outfit laid out on his bed to put on. Bubby leaned against the doorframe as Dr. Coomer shouldered on his suit vest.

“Thank you for helping so much with the organization.” Dr. Coomer said, standing in front of his full-length closet mirror to button up the vest and reaching for his bowtie. “...There’s only one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“In everything else we’ve been planning, I...I realized I don’t believe I know how to slow dance.” Dr. Coomer said sheepishly, fiddling with the bowtie in his hands.

“Slow dance?” Bubby echoed. “That’s easy, Dr. Coomer.”

“Is it?”

Bubby waved his hand dismissively. “Well, I’ve never done it, but I learned about it while they were teaching me arts and culture things. It can’t be that hard.”

Bubby and Dr. Coomer were quiet for a moment, the same thought hanging over them heavily. Bubby took a deep breath and finally voiced it.

“...We have some time. I could show you, if you’d like.”

Dr. Coomer smiled, rubbing the back of his neck anxiously. “I would appreciate that.”

Bubby pushed himself off the doorframe, watching Dr. Coomer rifle through his belongings for a moment before placing a vinyl on his record player. Gentle humming began playing through the speakers—a song Bubby knew Dr. Coomer loved, Call Me Irresponsible by Frank Sinatra. Once he turned back to Bubby, Bubby slowly approached him. Heart racing a little, he stiffly placed one hand on Dr. Coomer’s shoulder, holding up his other hand for Dr. Coomer to take. Dr. Coomer complied, lacing their fingers together and gripping it firmly before slipping his other hand down to Bubby’s waist. Bubby’s breath caught in his throat for a moment, and he glanced at their reflection in Dr. Coomer’s mirror. Bubby had never worn a suit prior to this day, and he’d felt incredibly goofy putting it on at first, but stood like this with Dr. Coomer dressed up so nicely, he felt a deep pang of yearning. He couldn’t stop the thought before it popped into his head, threatening to crush his soul: this could be _their_ wedding.

But it wasn’t. He shook the thought out of his head and cleared his throat. “N-now, we’ll start out simple. Just step to the side...”

Dr. Coomer and Bubby both tried to step in opposite directions. Dr. Coomer barked out a loud laugh, pulling Bubby back in a little closer than they had been before.

“Step to the _left_ first, Dr. Coomer.” Bubby told him irritably. Dr. Coomer obeyed, then they stepped to the right. Then left, then right. They repeated this for a little while until Bubby felt satisfied in their rhythm. “Okay, now if you want to turn...”

Again, Dr. Coomer and Bubby tried to move in opposite directions. Dr. Coomer snorted and pulled him back in.

“You’d better fucking take this seriously! You’re getting married in a few minutes!” Bubby snapped in a way he know only Dr. Coomer would recognize as playful.

“Of course, professor.” Dr. Coomer teased.

“I didn’t spend years earning my doctorate for you to disrespect me like this.” Bubby huffed. “Okay, let’s try again. Do it right this time.”

Dr. Coomer deliberately fucked it up a couple times, earning more banter, more laughter. Eventually, though, the two settled into a rhythm, going quiet as the music filled the room. Dr. Coomer’s smile fell—not in disappointment, Bubby could see, just content in the moment. His arm wrapped around Bubby’s waist a little tighter, pulling him in bit by bit as they danced until they were right up against each other. Bubby barely kept composed enough to keep dancing in time with Dr. Coomer, but once the anxiety subsided, their steps grew smaller, less jaunty, until they were just swaying their hips in time with the music. Everything else fell away around them; the wedding waiting for Dr. Coomer outside, the lab Bubby had been contained in for years, even the entirety of Black Mesa. The only thing on Bubby’s mind was this moment, the feeling of Dr. Coomer releasing Bubby’s hand to trace his fingers down his arm, then down his side before wrapping it around Bubby’s waist. He reveled in the smell of his cologne, and the way his long, soft hair gently brushed against Bubby’s cheek. Without even thinking about it, Bubby lowered his head until it rested on Dr. Coomer’s shoulder. Dr. Coomer didn’t react—they just kept dancing until the music stopped, leaving them only with static, and even then they stayed like that for a little while longer. It was only when Bubby’s wristwatch began beeping that he was snapped out of the moment, immediately pulling away and putting a respectable distance between himself and Dr. Coomer.

“Oh, fuck, we’d better get up there.” Bubby blurted out. He straightened out his own tie and ran his fingers through his thinning hair awkwardly, paranoid for a moment Dr. Coomer’s cologne had rubbed off on him too much. He couldn’t believe they’d just had an undeniable _moment_ like that, minutes from Dr. Coomer’s wedding with someone else. He crossed his arms anxiously as Dr. Coomer rushed to finish getting dressed.

“Oh, god. Do I look okay?” Dr. Coomer asked as he fumbled with his bowtie. His hands had begun to tremble, slowing the process of tying it significantly.

Bubby tentatively took Dr. Coomer’s shoulder to turn him back towards him, taking each side of the tie gently to tie it for him. He wanted to tell him he looked amazing, the most beautiful man he’d ever seen in his life, anybody lucky enough to set eyes on him should consider it a blessing, and anyone who disrespected him would die by Bubby’s hand. “You look acceptable.” He muttered.

Dr. Coomer let out a tense breath, flapping his hands down at his sides. “Oh, I’m so nervous!”

“It’s gonna be fine.” Bubby reassured him, his tone not nearly as genuine as he’d hoped it would be. “I mean, I did all the hard work already setting it up. All you gotta do is go up and say a few words and look nice.”

Dr. Coomer snorted. “Okay, you’re right as always, Bubby.”

Bubby finished tying Dr. Coomer’s bowtie, ready to take a step back, but Dr. Coomer stopped him by taking his hands in his own. Bubby looked up at Dr. Coomer in surprise.

“...You look tired.” Dr. Coomer commented.

“Well—yes, I just set up your whole damn wedding for you.” Bubby said defensively, looking away.

Dr. Coomer didn’t let him go for a long, quiet moment. “Bubby...how are you feeling about all this?”

Bubby looked back at Dr. Coomer wide-eyed. He wanted to ask what Dr. Coomer was talking about, but he _knew._

“I-I...” He tried to start, but a lump was forming in his throat in record time. He hadn’t even realized how close to tears he’d been this whole time; he’d held himself together so well so far, but just like that, those few words nearly broke him. He took a sharp, deep breath. “I’m fine, Coomer. I’m happy for you. Really.”

Dr. Coomer nodded slowly. “...Alright. Well, if you need some time...”

“We’re already running late, let’s just get you up there.” He interrupted evasively.

Dr. Coomer pulled on his suit jacket and the two of them headed back up to the surface. A couple other people chastised them for being late, which Bubby immediately snapped at them for—it’s _his_ wedding, Dr. Coomer can be as late as he wants!—and they each took their places at the altar. Bubby stood behind Dr. Coomer, hands clasped in front of him as the cheesy orchestral music began to play. Dr. Coomer began to flap his hands nervously by his sides again, so Bubby squeezed Dr. Coomer’s shoulder, which seemed to adequately ground him before Veronica appeared at the end of their makeshift aisle. Her dress was beautiful, matching Dr. Coomer’s baby blue suit with black trim perfectly. She looked stressed, maybe almost nauseous, contrasted by Dr. Coomer’s gigantic grin. Once their eyes met, a smile finally broke out on her face, and she began to walk down the aisle with someone Bubby assumed must have been a friend of hers.

Once she reached the altar, Dr. Coomer took a step towards her, putting a newfound distance between himself and Bubby. Bubby felt a stabbing pang of loss at the simple movement, like he’d just moved miles away from him in one single step. Bubby watched their fingers lace together easily, a comfortable, well-practiced motion from their time spent together, and his stomach churned— _do not throw up on stage, do not throw up on stage, do not throw up on stage,_ he repeated to himself.

He gritted his teeth, doing his best to keep himself under control as the guy behind the pedestal, what the fuck was he called? The guy who was dressed up like an asshole and talked for forever before he married them—he began to talk, his voice boosted by speakers set much too close to Bubby. He had a lapse of self-control, plugging his ears for only a moment before he forced his arms back down. His heart was racing now, and he had much too difficult a time breathing. He wanted to hop off the altar and run back to his room, but he knew he couldn’t; he had to be here for Dr. Coomer. He forced a deep breath in, then let it out slowly. It was going to be okay, he tried to reassure himself. The words felt almost meaningless in his own head as he repeated them over and over.

Somehow, by sheer force of will, Bubby managed to keep it together the entire time, even during their lengthy speeches about how much they loved one another and wanted to be together forever. Even when the guy dressed like an asshole announced it was time for them to kiss, and Bubby had to watch them seal the deal right in front of him, Veronica dipping him low to kiss him. He clapped so violently that perhaps others might see it as extreme enthusiasm, but it was just _something_ to vent some of the horrible feelings that were surging through him.

Dr. Coomer and his fiancé—no, his _wife_ —stood there, foreheads pressed against each other lovingly and giggling as the applause died down. Finally, Dr. Coomer turned to the audience, letting out an ear-splitting, excited scream and ripping his sleeves off. Despite it all, Bubby couldn’t help but laugh—a laugh that almost immediately became a barely contained sob. He wiped at his face impulsively, taking a deep breath to steady himself, but despite his best efforts, the tears began to flow. He stepped off the altar as casually as he could, rushing to the lobby of the dorms and pressing his back against the wall to the side of the door.

“You good, buddy?” The guard sat at the desk asked.

“Shut up!” Bubby snapped, his voice shaking. “I’m just—happy for Dr. Coomer!”

Bubby slid down to the floor, curling up and hiding his face behind his arms as he continued to cry quietly in the lobby. The guard was nice enough to not say anything else until he was done, at least, and Bubby stood back up and wiped the tears away before cleaning his glasses off on his suit jacket.

“If you tell anyone about this, I’ll fucking kill you.” Bubby threatened the guard before heading back outside.

Bubby approached the crowd again, doing his best to look normal as he found Dr. Coomer mingling with coworkers and family members by his wife’s side. When their eyes met, Dr. Coomer smiled.

“Bubby! Where did you get off to?” Dr. Coomer asked. “We can’t start the reception without you!”

“Oh, yeah, I uhh—I forgot my...speech cards.” Bubby lied. “I had to go back to my dorm and get them.”

“Well, we’re all ready whenever you are!” Dr. Coomer said with a grin.

Bubby nodded, taking his place up at the altar again, this time where the guy (the minister? Right, the minister) had been standing behind the podium to take advantage of the microphone. He tapped it a couple times experimentally, hearing the small whining feedback from the speakers. He cleared his throat and produced his speech cards like promised from his jacket pocket, hands shaking as he set them out on the podium.

“Uhh—hi, everyone.” He said into the microphone, hoping to get their attention.

The attendees hardly paid him any mind.

“I wrote this whole goddamn speech, you all better shut the fuck up and listen to me!” Bubby suddenly shouted into the microphone. That got everyone’s attention—but now, he shrank under all the eyes scrutinizing him. He cleared his throat and took a deep breath. “Dr. Coomer is one of the most annoying people I know—annoying enough to actually be so goddamn persistent, he became the closest friend I’ve ever had.”

At the front of the crowd, Bubby watched Dr. Coomer already begin to cry. His wife laughed, putting a hand on his shoulder and looking back up at Bubby.

“And meeting Veronica hasn’t been so bad, either. The past few years, getting to be their friend has been good.” Bubby went on, barely looking at his speech cards anymore. “Living in Black Mesa is boring. Very, very boring. But they always seem to find ways to make things more interesting—if it weren’t for Coomer dragging me into his life, I’d probably just be holed up in my office today getting irritated at everyone else talking about some random party or whatever. So...getting to be Dr. Coomer’s lab partner is the best thing that could have happened. I’m very, very lucky that he was annoying enough that eventually, I’d get to see them be so happy together. And she makes him the happiest I’ve ever seen him before, which I really didn’t think it was possible for him to get any happier, so that’s saying something. I’m...I’m very glad to see it. I hope...”

Bubby choked up a little, clearing his throat aggressively before continuing. “I hope you two have a long and happy marriage. Thanks for—uhh, for letting me be here to be a part of that, I guess.”

Bubby had so much more written out, things that were more befitting of a best man’s speech, but that was all his dumb, miserable brain would allow him to say. He tucked the cards back into his jacket as the crowd applauded, and Dr. Coomer leapt onto the altar to scoop Bubby up into a powerful hug, crying into his chest.

“That was beautiful, Bubby!” Dr. Coomer sobbed.

“I-it’s not a big deal. Stop being such a baby.” Bubby scoffed, patting Dr. Coomer’s shoulder awkwardly.

“You’re my best friend, Bubby, I love you so much!” Dr. Coomer went on, still refusing to put him down.

“Veronica, come get your husband, he’s embarrassing me!” Bubby shouted.

She headed up to the altar as well, putting a hand on Dr. Coomer, and he finally released Bubby. Dr. Coomer wiped messily at his face.

“I’m sorry, I’m just—so emotional.” Dr. Coomer blubbered. He wrapped one arm around Veronica’s waist, then another around Bubby’s, pulling them both in for another hug. “I’m so lucky to have you both in my life!”

Bubby tensed uncomfortably, trying everything in his power to avoid any physical contact with Veronica short of just pushing himself away. “Yeah, yeah, you too.” Bubby muttered.

Dr. Coomer finally let them both go, and Bubby stepped up to the microphone to speak one more time. “Everyone stop looking at us and eat the goddamn food I ordered for you already.” He said irritably.

Everyone started mingling again as Bubby hopped off the altar to get more music playing, getting a healthy mix of people dancing and others sitting by and eating. Bubby dragged up an unoccupied chair to sit in alone as Dr. Coomer and his wife danced, drinking some of the wine set out as he watched them enjoy themselves. Once one of the slow songs Veronica and Dr. Coomer had picked out started playing, people either paired off or left the dance floor entirely as Dr. Coomer and his wife got closer. Bubby gripped his glass tightly, watching them take the same stance he had been in with Dr. Coomer before—one hand on her hip, the other hand holding hers to their side. They swayed gently, turning and stepping just the way Bubby had shown him, just the way Bubby had reveled in. It was hypnotic, and it left a deep ache in Bubby’s chest. Eventually, Dr. Coomer and her separated after the song was replaced with something more upbeat, and she moved on to dance with some of her friends while Dr. Coomer scanned the area for Bubby. When their eyes met, he immediately headed in his direction, holding out his hand.

“Would you care to dance with me?” He asked.

Bubby sipped his wine before replying. “...I don’t like dancing in front of other people.”

“But you’ve proven yourself to be a fantastic dancer!” Dr. Coomer insisted, taking Bubby’s hand and dragging him up.

Bubby’s stomach twisted, looking at the people around them in fear. He hadn’t expected Dr. Coomer to bring that up so easily—particularly not in front of others. “I—well, of course I am, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“Come on! Just one dance?” Dr. Coomer pleaded, still holding Bubby’s hand.

Bubby scoffed. “...Fine. Just one. But if anyone films it, I’m melting their camera.”

Bubby let Dr. Coomer drag him to the dance floor, where Dr. Coomer started dancing so poorly but so enthusiastically, it was hard to _really_ get on his case for it. Bubby wasn’t much better—he knew whatever would be taught to him as a “cultural lesson”, but that didn’t necessarily extend to party dancing. Dr. Coomer took Bubby’s hands, spinning him around a few times and laughing loudly as Bubby complained. By the time the song ended, Bubby finally tore his eyes away from Dr. Coomer, realizing how many people had been staring at them. His stomach lurched at all the eyes on them, and he impulsively pointed at someone’s car parked nearby.

“Whoa, what the fuck is that?!” He gasped. When everyone’s attention turned to the car, he placed his fingers to his temple and set it on fire.

“Bubby!” Dr. Coomer scolded quietly, nudging him with his elbow, but he had a barely contained grin on his face.

Bubby snickered as the crowd moved away frantically to stop the fire. When Dr. Coomer began to chuckle as well, his laughter only grew, until they were laughing hysterically at what must have looked like nothing to everyone else. Bubby finally calmed down, settling into a comfortable silence with Dr. Coomer as the damage of the fire was assessed.

“I’m...happy for you, Dr. Coomer.” Bubby told him. “Genuinely. I’m happy you get to experience this with someone.”

Dr. Coomer smiled at him sadly. “Thank you, Bubby. Thank you for being here.”

“Of course. Clearly, it would’ve been a disaster without me.”

Dr. Coomer snorted. “Yeah. I think you’re right.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: forced sedation and surgery

Veronica and Harold didn’t have any time, unfortunately, to go on a honeymoon before she departed for basic training; their plan was to take their honeymoon during the brief break she was meant to have between training and beginning work. A wedding and a honeymoon an entire year apart—that was a truly miserable prospect, but Harold remained resolute. The wedding served too important a purpose to let that get in the way; it was a reminder that despite their problems now, they weren’t going to let something like this come between them.

It had made a lot of sense, he thought, when Veronica proposed. After all, they’d had rough patches in their past relationship, and neither that, nor the distance between them after college had changed the way they felt about one another. He had just forgotten it for a while—forgotten how important she was to him. This was...a considerable disagreement, but was it truly fair of him to call it quits over her new job? No, he thought as he looked down at his new wedding ring on his finger. It was going to be alright, someday; she’d spend just as much of her time in Black Mesa as him, doing whatever it was the military did in the facility, and they wouldn’t have to contend so much with the moral implications of her job. At least, that’s what she had said to him; also, that he would receive the same benefits that she did, now that they were married.

He didn’t want to think of himself as that shallow, though; the benefits thing was just an added bonus. A bonus that allowed him to return to relative financial comfort, without the thought constantly looming over him that he might need to find employment elsewhere—away from Bubby.

Harold stood in the parking garage, the chill from the outside entrance not too far off sending a shiver down his spine. Bubby was there by his side, as requested; how nice of him, Harold thought, to wake up so early to support him in sending Veronica off. He’d told him otherwise last night—making up some excuse that he thought Veronica would like him to be there, which wasn’t too far-fetched at least—but genuinely, he just didn’t think he’d be able to do this alone. The silence that would follow her leaving might crush him, he thought as he endlessly twisted the wedding ring over his finger.

Veronica had thrown her lightly packed bags into the back of her car already, and seemed to be going over a mental checklist in her head before slamming the trunk shut with a slam that echoed across the parking garage. Harold put on his best impression of a supportive smile as she turned back to him, taking his hands in her own.

“I’ll call you as soon as I can.” She told him.

“Of course.” Harold replied. “Drive safe, dear.”

She pulled Harold into a hug. Harold did his best to enjoy it while he could, burying his face into her shoulder with a deep, exhausted sigh. She pulled away shortly after, just barely enough to look at him properly and cup his face in her hand.

“It’s going to be alright, Harold.” She reassured him. “I’ll be back before you know it. And call you as often as I can.”

Harold nodded. “Oh, I know.” He said, forcing a laugh. “I’m sure you’ll do just fine, too, but...well, I’ll be thinking of you. Good luck.”

Veronica leaned in to kiss him before pulling away fully with a sigh. “Well, I’d better get going.”

Despite Harold’s best efforts, he began to feel tears forming in his eyes. He tried to turn away a little, only making it more painfully obvious he was beginning to cry.

“Of course. I’m sorry, go on ahead.” He insisted as she took his hands again with worry.

“Well, I can spare you at least another minute.” She said, hugging him tightly again.

Harold struggled to stop crying as he hugged her back, eventually forcing the sobs down sufficiently. “Okay. I’m okay. Sorry, I can’t help but worry.” He said as he pulled away.

Veronica waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, I’ll be alright. You know me.”

Harold nodded. “Yes, I certainly do. Goodbye, dear.”

“Talk to you soon.” She replied, turning to get into her car. Harold and Bubby took a few steps back to let her back out, and just like that, she was gone.

Harold watched her car closely until he could no longer see it in the morning twilight. He tried to take a deep, steadying breath, but he just broke out into another sob. He buried his face in his hands, feeling Bubby’s arms tentatively wrap around him. Harold held Bubby tightly, burying his face in his shoulder as he could no longer control his crying.

“I-it’s okay.” Bubby said as reassuringly as he could probably muster; he was never too great with words in times like this, but to Harold, just his presence was more than enough.

Bubby guided Harold along back to his dorm. He’d left it in a very sorry state; leading up to Veronica’s departure, he never quite found the energy to keep it as clean as he normally liked. Bubby didn’t say anything, at least, sitting Harold down on the couch and heading into his kitchen. He returned moments later with a glass of water, handing it off to Harold before sitting down beside him. Harold, now that he was finally breathing evenly, took a few sips of his water before setting it aside with a heavy sigh.

“It’s...for the best.” Harold murmured. “She’s wanted this for a while. I’d rather she be joining some sort of military contract with Black Mesa than anything else she could be getting herself into.”

Bubby nodded uncertainly.

“Thank you for being here.” Harold went on as Bubby gently wrapped an arm around Harold’s shoulders. He leaned against Bubby, closing his eyes and enjoying his comfort. “You really didn’t have to be.”

“It’s fine, Coomer.” Bubby said, giving him that sort of impatient, dismissive tone he always did when he clearly didn’t want to accept a compliment. “I, uhh...I’m sure it’ll all be okay. You guys are a good couple. You’ll...make it work.”

“...Yeah. You’re right.” Harold agreed tentatively. “It’ll all be fine.”

****

Bubby had never seen Dr. Coomer so withdrawn before. He normally was so boisterous and open about his feelings; this, though, seemed to be more than Dr. Coomer was capable of articulating to others. Over the next couple weeks, he always dismissed it whenever Veronica’s training was brought up. On some level, Bubby understood—it was a tough and complicated subject to talk about, clearly, especially with people he wasn’t very close with. On the other hand, it hurt to see Dr. Coomer so clearly distraught over something, particularly when he wouldn’t even talk to Bubby about it.

Not that they had much time to talk, though, of course; they were kept busy as always with the harsh expectations of Black Mesa. The months wore on as Bubby had been considering pulling out from other departments. He’d hoped if the employee retention problem wouldn’t be solved, he’d at least get used to the overtime; he felt like he was reaching his limit, though, by the fourth month. He had been preparing himself to go to the other departments and withdraw when suddenly, one after another, they began informing him they didn’t need his assistance, anymore. Fine by him, of course, but he wondered about the staffing. He didn’t see the bustle of new employee orientations, so, what? Were the expectations lowered to accommodate for poor staffing, maybe? He wondered as he rode the tram to the office with Dr. Coomer one morning.

“Bubby?” Dr. Coomer questioned in bewilderment.

Bubby looked over at Dr. Coomer. “What?”

Dr. Coomer was staring out the window, though, leaning out to look at something. Bubby leaned in closer to the window as well, searching the approaching Sector B’s platform for what Dr. Coomer was staring at. 

“I don’t see anything.” Bubby finally said. “What are you looking at?”

“Bubby.” Dr. Coomer repeated. He grabbed Bubby by his tie, dragging him in closer to the window and pointing.

Bubby adjusted his glasses on his face, following Dr. Coomer’s gaze. He was pointing at a man standing on the platform, talking to someone else. As the tram finally began slowing to a stop on the platform, the dots connected in Bubby’s head, sending a shock through his body. The man Dr. Coomer was pointing at was mostly getting talked at by the other scientist; he was slightly hunched over, looking incredibly overwhelmed by the sound of the tram pulling in. He was short with graying hair that was starting to be almost non-existent on the top of his head, wearing sharp, rectangular glasses with the rest of the usual science team uniform. He was Bubby.

“Oh my god.” Bubby breathed.

Impulsively, he shot out of his seat, leaping out the door with Dr. Coomer in tow to face the prototype and the scientist stood there at the platform. “What the fuck is going on?” Bubby demanded.

The prototype bristled, baring his sharp teeth at Bubby. The other scientist looked between Bubby and the prototype in confusion, holding up a clipboard closer to his chest and taking a step back wordlessly.

“What are you doing up here?” Bubby questioned, approaching the prototype. “You’re supposed to be in the lab.”

The prototype didn’t respond at first. His whole body was tense, glaring loathsomely at Bubby. The other scientist looked intimidated—and maybe he was right to be, depending on the limits of this particular prototype, but Bubby painfully recognized this behavior. It was strange, seeing it from an outside perspective; was this what everyone else saw when he was first allowed to leave the lab? He had been so overwhelmed then by the sounds and sights of the rest of Black Mesa, and wholly unprepared for the way people would speak to him, expecting real answers without usually having ulterior motives. He didn’t trust anyone, and this prototype probably didn’t have any reason to, either.

“A-...are you two related?” The other scientist asked suddenly with a nervous smile.

“No, it’s none of your business.” Bubby said, waving his hand dismissively before turning back to the prototype. “Did they let you up here?”

“Yes.” The prototype finally replied. “You weren’t supposed to—they separated us, you can’t be here.”

Bubby tilted his head curiously. “What? What does that mean?”

“Get back on the fucking tram!” The prototype snapped. The door was beginning to close behind them, so he stepped over to hold it open for them. “Go mind—...mind your own business, or they’ll—they’ll take measures to secure the project.”

“What?” Bubby repeated.

The prototype shoved Bubby back onto the tram, followed closely by Dr. Coomer. The door slid shut behind them as he released it, and the tram departed from the station slowly as they watched the prototype follow the scientist further into Sector B.

“Bubby, what on Earth was that?” Dr. Coomer asked him.

“I—well, you...don’t get all scientific breakthroughs on the first try.” Bubby answered vaguely, looking uncomfortably at the other scientists who watched them curiously. “Beyond him just existing, though, I have no idea what the fuck is going on. Let’s...talk about it after work.”

Dr. Coomer nodded. “Alright. That sounds fine to me.”

Once their work was over and they headed back to the dorms, they agreed to settle in Bubby’s dorm for privacy. Bubby sat down stiffly, trying to imagine that prototype trying to fit in. He didn’t so much feel sympathy for him—he felt embarrassed trying to picture it. At least for the most part, his particularly awkward phase after first being allowed to work independently were years behind him; he had plenty of time established now as a man who, hopefully, passed as a relatively normal Black Mesa employee. This prototype was starting fresh with new people, though, giving them new impressions of Bubby that he didn’t want hoisted on his shoulders.

“That was one of the prototypes.” Bubby finally began. “I was the end result of their efforts to not only create human life artificially, but create a human with...special abilities. There were a lot of attempts that went wrong, whether that was because the result simply didn’t have the powers they wanted, or because the result was...well, didn’t have the behavior they were aiming for. I just have no idea why they let another one out, though—they only let me out because I was the most capable of assisting with Black Mesa projects.”

“Well, many departments have been rather understaffed lately...” Dr. Coomer said thoughtfully. “Do you—”

Dr. Coomer stopped as there was a knock at the door. Bubby looked at Dr. Coomer for a tense moment.

“Who the fuck would that be?” Bubby whispered. “I don’t have any friends but you.”

“Maybe it’s someone from boxing club.” Dr. Coomer suggested hopefully.

Bubby stiffly approached the door, opening it just barely enough to peek at his visitor. Dr. Breen stood there, flanked by two security guards holding fire extinguishers.

“May I—” Dr. Breen started, interrupted by Bubby immediately shutting the door and locking it.

“What do you want, Dr. Breen?” Bubby called through the door.

“I’m not going to talk to you like this, Bubby. Just open the door.” Dr. Breen called back.

“Only if you send those guards away.”

“You know I can’t do that. You haven’t exactly proven yourself safe to be around.”

Dr. Coomer stood by Bubby’s side, now, placing a comforting hand on Bubby’s shoulder. He held up a fist for Bubby to see, nodding towards the door. Bubby contemplated it for a moment, then held his finger up, indicating for Dr. Coomer to wait.

“Well, I guess you’ll just have to leave, then.” Bubby called to Dr. Breen.

Bubby heard muffled conversation past the door for a moment, then something scraping into the lock. Bubby grew tense, putting two fingers to his temple defensively as the door simply unlocked and pushed open. Dr. Breen held up a key for Bubby to see before dropping it into his suit jacket’s pocket.

“You really thought I wouldn’t have a key to your dorm?” Dr. Breen questioned.

“Oh, fuck off.” Bubby hissed.

“It’s come to my attention that you’ve noticed some of our...new staff.” Dr. Breen went on. “I had hoped to keep the lot of you separated so nobody would catch on, but it seems you have a bit of a habit of telling people things they don’t need to know.”

Dr. Breen looked pointedly at Dr. Coomer, who was already looking two seconds away from decking him.

“Already, we’ve had questions from one of the prototypes’ coworkers and several people riding the tram this morning.” Dr. Breen said with a sigh. “Now, we’re going to have to issue a statement to prevent employees from poking around and move the remainder of the prototypes. If you’d just come down to the lab—”

“No!” Bubby snapped. “That sounds like your problem, Dr. Breen, I had nothing to do with your shitty decision to let the prototypes loose.”

“Trust me, this is your problem as well.” Dr. Breen insisted. “Come back to the lab with me willingly, and I won’t have you sedated and put into your tube. We could talk to each other like adults for once! Doesn’t that sound nice?”

“I think you should leave, Dr. Breen.” Dr. Coomer chimed in.

“Don’t think you’re in the clear either, Mr. Coomer.” Dr. Breen said, pointing at him. “One false move here, and I could have ample reason to have you terminated from Black Mesa.”

Dr. Coomer looked to Bubby worriedly. Bubby growled, finally putting his hand down. “Fine.”

“Good, good. So glad you’re going to be reasonable about this.” Dr. Breen said as he turned, waving for Bubby to follow. “Come along, we’ve no time to lose.”

Dr. Coomer squeezed Bubby’s shoulder. Bubby placed his hand over Dr. Coomer’s for a moment, reveling in Dr. Coomer’s comfort before pulling away and following Dr. Breen back down to the lab. Bubby stiffened as he stepped into the main section of the lab, heart racing with panic as the door closed and locked behind him. He stood tall, though, following Dr. Breen further inside to “talk somewhere more private”, as he said.

The room they walked to was a room that made Bubby feel sick to his stomach. A steel table was in the center, surrounded by shelves and other little rolling tables filled with medical equipment. Bubby wasn’t stupid—he knew a trap when he saw one. His fingers were to his temples in a flash, but he felt a familiar jab in his shoulder from behind, giving him little opportunity to find any way to escape. As he went down, Dr. Breen stood over him, nodding at a scientist who stepped into view holding a clipboard.

“I’m sorry, Bubby, you give me no choice.” Dr. Breen told him dismissively before walking away. Bubby’s vision went black before Dr. Breen had the opportunity to turn the corner.

****

Bubby woke up in a room he didn’t recognize. It was a struggle to open his heavy eyelids, let alone turn his head or move his body, but the ceiling was not that of his dorm—nor were the thin blankets that covered him. What had happened, again? He tried to remember, but there was a haze settled over his brain that made it difficult to think. He sluggishly lifted his hand to rub his eyes, effectively slapping himself in the face clumsily when he found it more difficult to move than he had expected. With a groan, he let his hand slide down over the top of his head to rest on the pillow—feeling something strange wrapped around his head.

He carefully felt it again. It was heavily bandaged. Was that why he couldn’t remember?

Bubby fell asleep again after that for a little while, and when he came to again, the memories finally flooded back. He sat up in the bed, only to feel a stabbing, dizzying pain in his head. He put his hand to the bandage again gently, panic beginning to rise in his chest. What the fuck did they do?

He looked at the room he was in again, finally recognizing it—it was his old room from before he had been allowed to live in the dorms. The all-too familiar sounds of other prototypes echoed down the hall outside his room, hissing and snarling and scratching at the walls. He’d have to remind himself later not to be too irritated by his neighbors watching TV too loud, anymore.

Bubby painstakingly stood, finding himself dressed in one of those godawful orange gowns tied together on the side. He quickly found his regular clothes folded up on the dresser, which he carefully changed back into before approaching the door. As years of experience could have told him, he found it locked, so he banged on it several times until he heard a voice over the speaker in his room.

“Bubby, you should lay back down.” A scientist told him.

“Why? What the fuck did you do to me?” He demanded loudly.

“We just installed some neural implants to protect confidentiality.” The scientist explained.

“You what?!”

“We’ll go over the details a little bit more later with you, you should get some rest for now.”

Bubby pressed a hand to his aching head with an agonized groan, moving to sit back down on the edge of his bed. He heeded the scientist’s advice to get some rest, only because the thought of trying to do anything else made him feel nauseous. He had his resilient body and Black Mesa’s advanced medical care to thank for a much speedier recovery than might be typical for anyone else, at least, but that still left him mostly alone in his old room for a whole week—the hallways slowly getting quieter and quieter around him until he didn’t hear any of the prototypes, anymore. At the end of that week, another scientist finally filled him in on what his new imposed limitations were.

“Well, like Dr. Breen told you, we had to issue a statement about the prototypes to the other employees.” The scientist informed him. “We had to move the prototypes unsuited for work down to the Lambda lab for confidentiality, too. Almost a goddamn bloodbath with some of those violent ones.”

The scientist talked Bubby through the things he was no longer capable of discussing—not only that, but there would be “certain consequences” if he were to try and get anyone else to spread information on his behalf. By this point, Bubby was so stir-crazy from being locked in his old room again that he didn’t even put up too much of a fight; he was just grateful to be stood at the door leading out of the lab, watching as the guard unlocked it and held it open for Bubby to leave. Bubby nearly bolted out, heading straight back towards the dormitories.

Bubby bristled at the sight of more prototypes milling about outside the lab, all barely acknowledging him—and other scientists already seemed to be getting used to working with so many Bubbys. The prototype sightings lessened as he grew closer to the dormitories, though, until he could almost pretend this was all a nightmare as he approached Dr. Coomer’s door. The door was quick to open after Bubby knocked, revealing Dr. Coomer staring at him with a dumbstruck look.

“Bubby!” He exclaimed, throwing his arms around him. “I was so worried!”

Bubby leaned into Dr. Coomer’s embrace with a deep, exhausted sigh. He hadn’t even realized how badly he missed this; just being close to Dr. Coomer, enjoying how easily he initiated contact, feeling his arms around him. Dr. Coomer pulled away sooner than Bubby had hoped, holding him out at arm’s length to look at him.

“What happened to you?” Dr. Coomer asked, glancing up at Bubby’s head. “And why is your hair gone?”

Dr. Coomer led Bubby inside to sit down, and Bubby explained as best he could what had happened. When he tried to share any details about confidential information, now, he felt a small zap in his head—not necessarily painful, but not pleasant, either—and the train of thought would be gone. He buried his face in his hands in deep frustration. It was one thing knowing he could face being put back in containment if he leaked Black Mesa secrets, but being made literally incapable of telling anyone what they determined to be confidential? It was bad. It was so bad, Bubby barely even felt like he was accurately processing exactly how bad it was.

“Bubby...we truly, truly can’t let this go on.” Dr. Coomer said suddenly, pulling him in to hold him close to his chest. “I know you’re nervous to think of what could happen if we try and do anything about your situation. But...I just...I can’t sit here and watch it happen, anymore. We need to do something.”

Bubby felt sick as he struggled to think of a counterargument. What was worse? The very clear, constant display of concern Dr. Coomer showed for him, always reminding him how awful his life was? Or the fact that it was getting harder and harder to argue that he should stay put? He wondered. He’d been terrified for much too long of trying to escape, but...

Bubby shook his head vigorously against Dr. Coomer’s chest. “I can’t.” He choked out. “I have no place on the surface. I...I just can’t.”

“We could get you somewhere safe.” Dr. Coomer insisted. “We could...go up to Canada, I don’t know—I could figure something out. I could hide you somewhere, and make sure they never, never find you.”

Bubby had a million things he wanted to say, but in that moment, he found it difficult to speak. He was so exhausted, so miserable, and so drained, he just remained silent as Dr. Coomer held him.

“You know what? Here, just a moment.” Dr. Coomer said, gently nudging Bubby upright and wiping at his eyes as he stood. He stepped up to his phone on the wall, took a deep breath, and quickly dialed a phone number by memory before leaning against the wall.

“Who are you calling?” Bubby asked in a fit of paranoia.

“Oh, just—” Dr. Coomer started, but he cut himself off, suddenly looking to the side and holding the phone closer to his mouth. “Oh, _maman!_ ”

Bubby’s eyes widened in surprise as Dr. Coomer suddenly began speaking entirely in French. It made sense—he grew up somewhere in Canada, but he’d never spoken in any other language in front of him before. Bubby silently kicked himself for never requesting to learn French way back in his tube days as he was left entirely in the dark on Dr. Coomer’s conversation. Based on what he could tell, though, the conversation seemed tense; Dr. Coomer paced between the living room and as far as he could get into his bedroom over and over as he spoke before finally letting out a sigh, repeating his thanks a few times before finally hanging up the phone.

“Okay.” Dr. Coomer said, turning back to Bubby. “I called my mummy—”

“What the—who the fuck am I talking to right now?” Bubby demanded. “I didn’t know you spoke French. And ‘mummy’? Are you a British four-year-old?”

Dr. Coomer let out a loud, surprised laugh. “Bubby, dear god, I’m trying to break you out of Black Mesa, there’s no need to scrutinize how I speak to or about my mother.”

“I think we ought to take at least a solid 20 minutes to discuss this.”

“I told you where I grew up already, I sort of assumed that you’d figure I’m bilingual. It’s not like I’ve had any need to speak French down here in the middle of a New Mexico desert.” Dr. Coomer said, turning to step into his bedroom and begin digging around in his closet. “Besides, we don’t have time for this, we should be discussing how to get you out.”

“Dr. Coomer, hold on a second.” Bubby said, standing slowly and bracing himself against the arm of the couch as he grew dizzy. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“No, it’s okay, I think I have it figured out.” Dr. Coomer insisted. Bubby walked slowly to join him in his bedroom, watching him drag out a suitcase and an old duffel bag. “Getting you out shouldn’t even be so difficult, right? They always let us out together as long as I’m ‘escorting’ you. I probably couldn’t just take you straight to my car in the parking garage, there’s rather heavy security there, but if I prepare the car out behind that cropping of rocks...”

Dr. Coomer went on in a way that Bubby couldn’t help but feel was already well planned out. He grew dizzy again imagining himself getting out, moving to sit down on Dr. Coomer’s bed so he wouldn’t fall.

“Coomer, I’ve told you already.” Bubby interrupted. “Getting out is one thing, but they’ll find me, one way or another. They already know we’re close, you think they won’t know where to find you once they realize I’m missing and you haven’t shown up to work? Like, what, are you expecting us to be well-hidden at your parents’ house?”

“Of course not!” Dr. Coomer replied, placing the empty suitcase in front of Bubby before beginning to stuff some of his belongings into his duffel bag. “I told my mum I might be visiting soon, but no more than that. We’d stop there for only a short time, so I can ask more on a place I’m sure we could go—I remember visiting it when I was young, but I don’t remember enough to get there, much less if we’d be welcome.”

“Why not just ask her on the phone?” Bubby questioned.

“I don’t know if Black Mesa taps our phones!” Dr. Coomer said as if it was completely obvious—well, perhaps it was an obvious conclusion to draw, actually, now that Bubby thought about it. “I wouldn’t want them to have a record of her giving me the address.”

“I didn’t take you for someone so paranoid like this.” Bubby couldn’t help but say.

Dr. Coomer turned to Bubby with wide, surprised eyes. He actually looked somewhat hurt—Bubby frowned, crossing his arms tightly over his chest.

“Uhh—I mean, all I’m saying is, this seems like something you’ve already thought about.” Bubby said carefully.

“Well, how could I not?” Dr. Coomer asked as he continued packing his duffel bag. “You live somewhere so horrible, Bubby. They do tests on you, they treat you with so little respect—I just...I feel so...complacent whenever you return after something like this. I have to do something for once.”

“You don’t.” Bubby insisted. “Seriously, Coomer, it’s okay. It’s not ideal, I know, I’m not stupid. But I’ll live.”

“This isn’t living!” Dr. Coomer blurted out. “Even I feel claustrophobic down here sometimes, and I can technically leave any time I want! You’ve never been outside of Black Mesa property before. You’ve never been to...a restaurant, or a concert, or gone on a hike, gotten to actually enjoy the outdoors or a road trip—there’s so much out there that you could be experiencing, and I have the power to help you! I’ve gone much too long not using it to get you out. I’m changing that, right now.”

Dr. Coomer began pacing between different parts of his room, hastily throwing things into his duffel bag and stuffing them into his pockets. “You’ve been down here for—what, 40 years now? And nobody has done anything about this? Too many people have failed you already. I’ve failed you every single day I haven’t broken you out of this godforsaken facility.”

Bubby stood up, catching Dr. Coomer by the forearm as he tried to get back to his duffel bag. “Coomer! Just—stop for a minute!”

Dr. Coomer paused, looking at Bubby in silence.

“It’s...I...” Bubby faltered, struggling to put words to the emotions swirling inside of him, now.

He’d never felt so cared for like this—nobody had ever been so vehement about breaking him out. Why did something that should be so flattering hurt him so much? Regardless of all that, though, there was still the constant fear of being caught. He’d be sent right back down to biological research for good; that was the ultimatum presented to him the day he was granted dorm privileges. Even if, by some miracle, Dr. Coomer didn’t get fired for the crime of stealing Black Mesa property, he’d still have no chance of seeing him again if he was locked away in biological research the rest of his life. Not to mention, of course, he had no usable, legal records of actually existing.

“What am I going to do on the surface, anyway?” Bubby finally asked. “I would never be able to get a job, and I’d be hiding away from Black Mesa—would I ever be able to do any of the things you said without a constant fear of being discovered?”

Dr. Coomer paused for a moment. “Well—the place I was thinking of is rather secluded. I’m sure you could at least—”

“Coomer, it wouldn’t be truly free.” Bubby interrupted. “I’d be completely dependent on you, wouldn’t I?”

Dr. Coomer seemed caught off guard by this response. He was silent for a long moment, fiddling with his hairbrush in his hands before finally speaking again. “Well...I suppose that’s true. Would that really be worse than what you live with now, though?”

“It’s...the pros and cons are complicated.” Bubby admitted, releasing Dr. Coomer to cross his arms again uncomfortably. “The circumstances I live in suck. But if I live in hiding, I wouldn’t get to work. I love science, Coomer, I can’t fucking imagine having to sit cooped up in a house all day doing nothing. The requirements can be grueling, and the tests done on me can be awful, but sitting indoors with nothing to do, always worrying that they’re going to find me someday...I...can’t imagine that being a truly better alternative.”

“Why not?” Dr. Coomer questioned desperately, dropping his brush to hold Bubby by his shoulders. “We can find ways to occupy your time! I’ll take care of you, Bubby, I wouldn’t just lock you up in a house to do nothing, and I’d hide you _well._ I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Bubby’s head was beginning to ache as frustration built up in him. “You don’t get it, Coomer.” He said, closing his eyes and pressing the heels of his hands against his temples in an attempt to alleviate some of the pain. “It’s not worth it. Please, please just drop it.”

“I can’t! As your friend, I owe it to you to help you!”

“What about Veronica?” Bubby demanded. “You wouldn’t be able to tell her anything, would you?”

Dr. Coomer stammered for a second before stopping, thinking it over for a long moment. “What do you mean?” He finally asked.

Bubby nudged away from Dr. Coomer to sit down on the bed again. “She’s set to work on that Black Mesa military contract, isn’t she? The best I figure, they’re the ones who handle shit like me if I escape. Keeping Black Mesa secrets by force.” He began. “Even if that’s not the case, you can run away from Black Mesa just fine, but wouldn’t her position be harder to run from if she wanted to come with us? You couldn’t tell her where to find us, or there would be the possibility of them getting that information out of her. Right?”

“She wouldn’t tell anyone.” Dr. Coomer said defensively.

“Okay, sure.” Bubby relented, purely for the sake of argument. “But she wouldn’t be able to visit. As your wife, they’d surely be tracking her to see if she ever comes to find you, right? That’d lead them right to me. That would be a choice, between her and me. Wouldn’t it?”

Dr. Coomer gripped the fabric of his shirt over his stomach, a nauseous expression creeping up on his face. “...Oh.” He breathed.

Bubby relaxed a little, now that he seemed to have finally found something that got Dr. Coomer off his back. Dr. Coomer sat down beside him, staring at their reflection in the full-length closet mirror in front of them. Bubby looked back at him; he looked so conflicted and thrown off. Bubby suspected he must have just toppled a plan months—or maybe even years—secretly in the making with just one simple argument.

“That’s not fair.” Dr. Coomer suddenly said shakily.

Bubby shook his head a little. “I guess not.”

“I never wanted it to be a choice between you two.” Dr. Coomer continued, turning to look at Bubby rather than his reflection. “But...well, Bubby, I understand why you’re pushing so hard against leaving. I know it must be hard to consider this massive life change, particularly when the other option isn’t ideal. But...truly, when it comes down to it...”

Dr. Coomer paused, reaching for Bubby’s hand. “This isn’t just about us, or my relationship with her, if you consider all the factors. My moral standpoint on all of this doesn’t change. Even if I had to leave so much behind, I’d still ultimately choose to get you out of Black Mesa.”

“What? Why?” Bubby demanded. “You can’t do that, Coomer! You married her! You already made your choice!”

That was harsh, Bubby thought the minute the words came out of his mouth. What was he doing? Lashing out? All over something so unfair to be angry about, too—he was mysteriously frustrated with Dr. Coomer for wanting him to be happy. Was that truly such a crime?

“I can’t—I can’t do this.” Bubby said, voice wavering as he stood. He was immediately forced to sit again by an intense surge of pain in his head. He felt Dr. Coomer’s hand on his back to steady him, only making his complicated, frustrated feelings worse. He nudged away from him, standing again much slower this time. “Coomer, you know I lo-...care about you. But honestly, all of this—everything, the wedding, you constantly trying to break me out—I think this is just too much.”

“Oh, Bubby, I’m sorry.” Dr. Coomer replied automatically, standing and reaching out just a little—not touching him, but clearly prepared to catch him if he fell. “I’ll back off, then, I promise. I just...I got caught up in everything. I don’t want you to be overwhelmed by all this.”

“No.” Bubby said, shaking his head and turning away from Dr. Coomer. “I-I understand it all. I really do. But this, you asking me to be your best man when you know how I feel about you, and then just—telling me you’d leave your wife for me! Do you even realize how much that hurts?”

“Wh-what?”

“You trying to do these things to be nice to me, I just...I know it shouldn’t hurt. I know it.” Bubby continued, tears stinging his eyes as everything began to flood out. “It’s fucked up of me to even tell you this, you’re only trying to help—I’m just not good for you. I’m putting such a strain on your whole life, potentially on your marriage—I want you to be happy, I spent so long trying to get past my jealousy so I could just enjoy seeing you happy with Veronica, but knowing you’d drop everything and leave so much behind for me is so horrible. I don’t want that weighing on you! I’m going to be stuck here for the rest of my fucking life, and I never wanted you to get so close that it would hurt you to see me like this. That’s why I rejected you, I thought we’d be avoiding that pain, but here we are.”

Bubby felt light-headed as he began to have trouble breathing. He sat back down heavily on Dr. Coomer’s bed out of necessity, Dr. Coomer following in an instant.

“...I-I’m sorry.” Dr. Coomer repeated. “I...didn’t realize...”

“I can’t do it, anymore. I can’t.” Bubby said, wiping at his eyes uselessly. “These past few years getting to know you have put too much into perspective, Coomer, and...I don’t want this to be what our lives are like.”

“...What are you saying?” Dr. Coomer asked quietly.

“I can’t—...” Bubby struggled to swallow a lump in his throat. “Maybe it’s best if we stopped being friends.”

Bubby refused to look at Dr. Coomer, dreading his reaction. He was silent, though, for what felt like a solid minute before he finally spoke.

“Bubby, I don’t understand.” Dr. Coomer said, his voice soft and broken. “I only wanted to help you.”

“That’s the problem.” Bubby insisted, standing up carefully. “I’m not someone you should try to help. You’ll only get hurt if you do. I mean—look at me! I couldn’t handle you just trying to do something good for me! I’m not a good friend, Coomer. You know something? I fucking hated Veronica at first.”

Dr. Coomer didn’t reply, only giving Bubby a surprised look.

“I didn’t want to. She’s always seemed fine.” Bubby continued. “I just—I hated that it changed our friendship when she got here. Then you two started dating again, and I almost couldn’t stand to see it. It was selfish of me! And that same selfish part of me would fucking love to go with you and have our entire lives revolve around each other, but I can’t let that be what we end up with. You don’t deserve that.”

Dr. Coomer was starting to get a dazed look in his eyes as Bubby spoke. Bubby shook his head, pressing his hands to his face and taking a deep breath.

“I spend every interaction with you fucking—psychoanalyzing myself. It’s _exhausting._ ” Bubby admitted with a choked sob. “I never...I never fucking learned how to care about people down here. And now I just...I don’t think I’ll ever really get the hang of it. I’ll just hurt you. I feel like I _have_ been hurting you, even though I’ve tried so, so fucking hard not to.”

Bubby froze as he heard a quiet sob from Dr. Coomer. He looked down at him, watching him bury his face in his hands as his shoulders began to shake. Bubby had only ever seen him cry like this when Veronica left—but this was a whole different level than that. _He’d_ done this, he thought as his stomach churned. So much frustration at himself, his circumstances, and his feelings towards Dr. Coomer had built up until it all came crashing down, and Dr. Coomer had gotten caught in the crosshairs. Bubby stumbled backward.

“I-...I’m sorry. I have to go.” Bubby murmured. “I’m sorry, Coomer. I’m sorry.”

He left after that, as promised, trying very hard to tune out the sounds of Dr. Coomer crying before shutting the door firmly behind him.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my one oc in here, beatrice, served a more important purpose in the original write of this but like. isn't Quite so relevant the way i did things this time. so i thought about taking her out entirely but she's my writer's convenience character in the next part of the series for bits and pieces of worldbuilding so. here she is lol

Harold had no idea what he was meant to do, now that Veronica was off at basic training and Bubby had so suddenly declared he no longer wanted to be friends with him. All in the span of such a short period of time, Harold had become more alone than he ever had been in many, many years.

It was a rough night, after Bubby had left his dorm in a hurry. He slowly unpacked his duffel bag, just tossing his belongings in the approximate direction of where they were meant to go before crawling into bed. Both his confidants, the people he trusted the most with his feelings, were gone or out of his reach, so all he could do was wallow in his own misery until he drifted off into a fitful sleep.

He didn’t see Bubby the next day, despite it being a work day. He’d been handling so much work by himself lately, he was used to improvising in order to get the job done, so the work itself was fine; it was missing Bubby that nearly did him in, though. As he headed back to his dorm after work, he paused at the fork in the hallway towards Bubby’s dorm. He wanted to check on him—he was clearly in a miserable state, both emotionally and physically from his surgery, surely he needed someone to help take care of him, right? His words echoed in Harold’s head, though, as he stood there and contemplated showing up in his dorm.

Harold headed back for his own dorm instead, deciding to give Bubby space.

Harold went almost a whole other week working alone. He’d ride the tram alone, work alone, eat lunch alone, return to his dorm alone, and eat dinner with only the sounds of his TV or his records playing in the background. No boisterous laughter from the man he loved or his wife, no heated discussion about science or cheesy romance books—Bubby loved those, even though he hated to admit it—not even the warmth of either of them by his side.

He’d been happily married for all of a week before she had left him behind for something he’d thought he made clear he considered a dealbreaker. He had the spine of a jellyfish, really—he had _insisted_ he couldn’t be seeing anyone who considered the military as an option on principle, and yet she went for it anyway, spending a whole night turning it around so it felt like such a petty grievance from him. She probably didn’t mean for that to confuse Harold so much; yet, every time he thought back on that night now, he just felt deeply dismissed.

And now, Bubby had made it clear that the wedding had changed so much between them, until he couldn’t even consider running away with Harold for a better life. Harold curled in on himself at his dining table, pushing aside his barely touched food to rest his head on his forearms.

Perhaps he _had_ pushed Bubby too much. He still firmly believed that the life he could offer Bubby would be better, even if it wasn’t perfect, but it wasn’t his place to make that decision for him. He wanted to apologize for so much, and yet here he was, paralyzed in his dorm, unwilling to take a chance and go see him for fear of making matters worse.

It was on a Friday morning that Harold finally saw Bubby again. He was at the tram station already, looking more vital and recovered than he had been when Harold saw him a few days prior. He instinctively wanted to stand by his side, but he paused as they locked eyes, biting his lip and thinking back to what he’d said. Instead, Harold stood on the other side of the platform, settling to let Bubby approach if he chose to. Bubby stayed firmly where he was, though, never meeting Harold’s eye again whenever he looked out of burning curiosity.

They would _have_ to talk, eventually—just for work, of course. Was Harold looking forward to that, or dreading it? He wondered as he stood in the corner of the tram, away from the seat Bubby had taken. Eventually, the two reached their stop, and Bubby walked a good couple feet ahead of Harold before unlocking the door to their office. They each began settling at their desks, Harold pulling out a folder he’d prepared for Bubby.

“What have I missed?” Bubby finally asked, staring down firmly at his desk when he spoke.

Harold approached his desk tentatively, holding out the folder for him. “I, uhh—prepared this to catch you up.”

That was it. Just brief, strained interactions in order to get their work done, a lunch hour spent separately, and preparing himself to spend a lonely tram ride home when Bubby had insisted he would be staying behind to work late. Harold collected his bag and began heading for the door before hearing Bubby’s desk chair shuffling behind him, followed by a strained, “wait.”

Harold turned to Bubby hopefully, watching him stand behind his desk. He averted his eyes, tapping his pen against his palm as he took a moment to think his words over before speaking.

“Can we talk?” He finally asked.

“Of course!” Harold said, possibly much too eagerly.

Bubby nodded for Harold to sit down, so he did, and Bubby dragged his desk chair up closer to sit in front of him.

“I...figured we should talk about what happened. What I said the other day.” Bubby began awkwardly. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot. And maybe this won’t change anything about...how we’ve been the past few days, but—I feel like I have to say it.” 

Harold nodded slowly.

“So much of what I told you was unfair. I’m sorry.” Bubby continued, pulling on a loose thread in his tie. “I-I was just...in a bad state after that surgery. You were right to be worried, and I shouldn’t have taken my own issues out on you over it. But...I-I guess...what I feel is still the same. I still think it would be best if we went our separate ways.”

Harold’s lip trembled, but he wiped at his face and took a deep breath to calm himself before he spoke. “Can I at least apologize?” 

Bubby gripped his tie tightly in his fist, silent for a long few moments before nodding reluctantly. 

“I’m sorry.” Harold said whole-heartedly, voice cracking. “I never wanted to hurt you. This has been...I mean...” 

Harold stopped, struggling to find the right words. What could he even say to this? “Sorry I cared”? “Sorry you were jealous”? Was that even a fair thing to have to apologize for?

“I-I don’t know what to say.” Harold finally admitted. “I just...I want you to know how much I care about you. I know things have been rough down here, and I never expected it to be easy for us. I’ve only ever wanted you to be happy. I-I honestly...don’t even know what to tell you, regarding Veronica or trying to get you somewhere safe. I was...well, I suppose none of that matters, if you really feel that way. Perhaps...I can see if I could try to transfer to a different department.” 

Bubby frowned deeply. “...Okay.” 

Bubby and Harold sat there for a moment longer before Harold let out a small sigh, standing up and scooping up his bag from his desk. Before turning to head out the door, Harold gave him a quiet “goodnight” and left Bubby alone in the office.

****

Bubby returned Monday morning to find the door already propped open. He stepped inside slowly, frowning as he found Dr. Coomer hunched over a box, placing his belongings inside carefully. Dr. Coomer turned to look at him, seemingly instinctively putting on a friendly smile as he did so. 

“Oh, you’re leaving already?” Bubby asked impulsively. 

Dr. Coomer nodded, turning back to the box. “Yes, this is the last of my things. I’m transferring to work in hazardous waste.” 

Oh, god, no wonder he was transferring so fast. That was the bottom of the barrel, as far as Bubby was concerned—there were always openings because it was a horrible department to work in. Bubby set his things down on his desk, trying not to let his reaction show through. 

“G-...good luck in there.” Bubby managed to say. 

“...Good luck with your work as well, Bubby.” Dr. Coomer replied. “You are staying here, correct?”

Bubby shook his head slowly. “Uhh—sort of. I figured I’d move to anomalous materials proper after this. Seems like they could use a hand.”

“Ahh, I see.” Dr. Coomer nodded. “Well, best of luck to you with that.”

As Dr. Coomer hoisted up his box, they stared at each other awkwardly for a long moment. Dr. Coomer set his box down on his now empty desk, approaching Bubby and holding out his hand. 

“It’s been nice working with you.” He said tentatively. 

Bubby slowly reached out, taking his hand. Dr. Coomer gripped it tightly, giving him a firm handshake that rattled his shoulder uncomfortably. 

“...Same to you.” Bubby muttered. 

Dr. Coomer scooped up his box again, kicking the doorstop back into its designated corner to let the door close slowly behind him. As the door clicked quietly, Bubby could practically feel his heart shattering in his chest. He took a deep breath, trying to stamp down the panic that began to surge through him. This had been what he wanted, hadn’t it? He had told Dr. Coomer he couldn’t see him anymore, and Dr. Coomer had been kind enough to comply without a fuss. Why was he so upset? 

Bubby propped up his elbows on his desk, gripping his hair in his fists. This was what he wanted. It was for the best, he reassured himself. 

But what if it _wasn’t_ what he wanted? 

Bubby shot up from his chair, throwing the door open and sprinting down the hall. Dr. Coomer couldn’t have gotten far. By the time Bubby arrived at the tram stop, it was already slowly beginning to pull away—completely empty except for Dr. Coomer sat inside by the back window. 

“Wait!” Bubby shouted. The tram was automatic, it wasn’t like it was going to stop for him, but it got Dr. Coomer’s attention. He stood, watching Bubby run with wide eyes. 

“Bubby?” He called back. 

Bubby gritted his teeth, leaning forward and putting all the strength he could muster into boosting his speed. He normally didn’t have much cause to use this power, but this was as good a time as any—he wasn’t going to go another second without apologizing to Dr. Coomer. As the tram pulled away from the station, he launched himself off the platform, reaching for the tram frantically. He only just barely managed to catch the edge of the window, dangling precariously off the end of the tram as it picked up speed. Dr. Coomer’s hands wrapped around Bubby’s wrists, dragging him through the window and into the safety of the car. 

“Bubby, what on Earth are you doing?” Dr. Coomer asked, holding Bubby’s upper arms gently as Bubby steadied himself. 

“I’m sorry!” Bubby blurted out, grabbing Dr. Coomer’s shoulders tightly. “I’m so sorry about everything! I don’t want you to go, you’re the best friend I’ve ever had, I don’t—I don’t want to lose you!” 

Dr. Coomer immediately teared up, gripping Bubby’s arms tighter. “I don’t want to lose you, either!” Dr. Coomer sobbed suddenly, pulling him in for a tight hug. “I’m so sorry I hurt you, I only wanted you to have a better life. I understand why you’re concerned about leaving, I never should have pushed you so hard. You don’t need that on top of everything else. I just want the best for you.” 

“Oh, god, I’m so sorry.” Bubby wrapped his arms tight around Dr. Coomer, burying his face into his shoulder. “I’ve been such a dick to you. I should never have acted like my shitty feelings were your fault. I shouldn’t have blamed it all on you, I know you only wanted to help.” 

“But I should’ve just _asked_ you.” Dr. Coomer argued miserably. “Leaving is _your_ choice. I want you to have a better life, but I shouldn’t be pushing you into something you’re not comfortable with. I’m sure there’s something we can do, but we can figure it out _together,_ rather than me just telling you I’m taking you away. I’ll still do anything for you, Bubby, but only with your permission.” 

“It’s okay, Dr. Coomer.” Bubby sighed. “I wish you had asked, but...it’s okay. It’s not like I made it easy.” 

“I _do_ wish we could have just talked about how you were feeling, rather than letting it reach that point.” Dr. Coomer pulled away, holding him out at arm’s length. “...I’m sorry it’s hurt so much that we can’t be together. I’m sure it’s been such a strain, seeing me get married when you know we could never be together. And I’m sorry if the pain doesn’t go away. It...hasn’t for me, either. But I don’t want that to hurt our friendship.” 

Bubby wiped his eyes under his glasses. “I don’t, either.” 

Dr. Coomer pulled Bubby in for another hug. “I love you, Bubby.” 

Bubby closed his eyes, resting his head on Dr. Coomer’s shoulder. “I...love you too, Dr. Coomer.”

****

Dr. Coomer still moved on to the biological waste department, as the transfer had already been official, but they still met at the tram stop each morning and sat together until they arrived at Dr. Coomer’s stop, then walked back to the dorms together after work. They spent more time stargazing together late into the night, went to the boxing club meetings together, and Dr. Coomer would often visit Bubby’s dorm. The transfer had felt like the end of their friendship in the moment, but as they settled into new patterns, Bubby grew grateful for it—it gave him time to breathe, focus on other things before spending much anticipated time with Dr. Coomer again.

It was peaceful, relatively speaking. Bubby knew eventually, Veronica would return and their whole dynamic would shift again; he would have to figure out how to handle himself all over for that again, though for now, he had begun to consider his feelings towards Dr. Coomer as something to enjoy rather than trying desperately to push away. No, he couldn’t be _with_ him—but that didn’t change how wonderful it felt to see Dr. Coomer enjoying himself with something, nor how happy he was to spend time with him. Not to mention, he’d been trying for _years,_ and he never quite moved on; at this point, it was easier to consider this an enhancing quality to his friendship with him than something to be trying to move past.

There was something else entirely to contend with now, though; Bubby had no choice but to adjust to life with his prototypes running around. Now that his origins were pretty much public knowledge among Black Mesa employees, he got a lot of questions— _what sorts of powers do you have?_ Oh, you know. _What was it like growing up in Black Mesa?_ Shitty. _Where are all the other Bubbys staying in Black Mesa?_ Can’t say. Bubby grew impatient with it quickly, resorting to telling anyone with questions to fuck off rather than answering anymore. By the time boxing club came around, he was fully prepared to deck anyone who tried to ask him anything else.

Fortunately, they were at least polite enough not to start off the night bombarding Bubby with questions, so he leaned against the wall watching the rest of the group peacefully like every other week until Dr. Coomer pestered him again for a match. Eventually, just like always, Bubby caved and took up the spare gloves, and everyone else gathered around to watch.

“Y’know, I always wondered why Coomer loses against Bubby so often.” One of the scientists commented to another. “I guess now it makes sense.”

“Bubby’s _very_ strong!” Dr. Coomer said to them proudly.

“Yeah, yeah.” Bubby grumbled.

“I heard you have powers, though, Bubby!” The scientist said. “Have you just been holding back this whole time?”

“What?!” Dr. Coomer questioned incredulously before Bubby got a chance to respond. “Bubby, don’t hold back! I want to see how strong you _really_ are!”

“Oh, you really don’t.” Bubby insisted.

“How easy have you been going on me this whole time?” Dr. Coomer asked him. “Be honest with me, Bubby.”

“...I’ve been using about...five percent strength, maybe.”

“ _Five percent?!_ ” Dr. Coomer exclaimed. “But Bubby, I thought we were evenly matched!”

“What do you want from me? Do you want me to _kill_ you?”

“Give me more than that!” Dr. Coomer demanded, puffing out his chest proudly. “Hit me, I can take it!”

“You want me to just punch you?”

“Everyone else in this club hits me as hard as they can, and I’m always fine!” Dr. Coomer insisted. “If they can do that, you can give me...ten percent.”

“Coomer, that’s way too much.”

“Come on!!”

Bubby let out a loud annoyed sigh. “Fine, if you’ll leave me alone, I’ll hit you a _little_ harder just to show you how much it’s gonna fucking suck.”

Bubby slipped on one of the spare gloves, reared back, and hit him with what he approximated to be about 7% strength. Dr. Coomer doubled over and stumbled back, wrapping his arms tightly around just where his sternum ended. Bubby felt a pang of guilt immediately—maybe he should’ve hit a little lighter? Dr. Coomer lifted his head to give him a pained smile, though.

“Oof, y-you’re right.” He wheezed.

“Are you alright?” Bubby asked, removing the glove and placing a hand on Dr. Coomer’s back.

“I’m fine.” Dr. Coomer insisted, his voice breathy and strained. “Unrelated, but I’m going to...sit down for a few.”

One of the other boxers offered one of the few chairs they had for Dr. Coomer to sit down in. Bubby knelt beside Dr. Coomer’s chair, accompanied by another boxer—Bubby had worked with this one a couple times before in the cybernetics department, eventually learning her name was Beatrice.

“Are you _sure_ you’re okay?” Beatrice pressed. “Come on, sit up for a second, let me check.”

Dr. Coomer complied, lifting his undershirt just enough for Beatrice to check the damage. Bubby winced as they found a nasty bruise on his right side, where his lower ribcage would be. She gently touched it, which earned an immediate restrained grunt of pain from Dr. Coomer.

“Oh dude, this looks bad.” She said. “I think your ribs might be broken.”

“Oh, Jesus, Coomer, I’m sorry.” Bubby said impulsively.

“I-it’s okay.” Dr. Coomer said shakily, sweat beginning to bead up on his face. “Let’s just—can you help me get to a medical station?”

Beatrice and Bubby helped Dr. Coomer stand, taking him slowly up towards an upper level with functioning medical stations.

“I’m sorry, Coomer, I didn’t want to hurt you this bad.” Bubby said again, moving carefully as he supported Dr. Coomer’s injured side.

“Bubby, it’s fine, please stop apologizing or I’ll pass out.” Dr. Coomer said through gritted teeth.

“Y’know...” Beatrice interrupted, that tone of voice that suggested she was trying to sound like something only just occurred to her, “those ribs are gonna take a while to heal properly. And we’ve been looking for some volunteers in the cybernetics department...”

Dr. Coomer’s eyes lit up. “You want me to volunteer?”

“Yeah, you’re a healthy guy, I think you’d be a pretty good fit. We could just replace your ribcage entirely with something stronger, no big deal.” Beatrice suggested casually. “And since we’d be working on your chest area already anyway, I could see if maybe we could do a little...additional reconstruction.”

Dr. Coomer didn’t seem to understand at first before the dots seemed to connect in his head. He beamed at her, stimming by hitting her shoulder several times weakly with his open palm.

“You’d give me _top surgery?!_ ” He practically squealed.

“Yeah, I mean, it sort of depends on the model of—”

“Beatrice, whatever you have to do, I’m on board.” Dr. Coomer interrupted.

Beatrice laughed. “Alright, well, let’s get you to the medical station first, then we can head to the cybernetics lab and I’ll call everyone up for emergency work.”

Dr. Coomer turned to Bubby excitedly. “Bubby, you breaking my ribs is going to be the best thing you’ve ever done for me.”

“That’s great, because this was going to haunt me for a while.”

Bubby helped Beatrice take Dr. Coomer to the medical station, where he received some immediate first aid before they took him down to the cybernetics department. Bubby sat there just outside the lab they were working in, even falling asleep for a couple minutes at a time as he waited hours for the procedure to be complete. Just like Bubby’s less fortunate procedure, Dr. Coomer’s recovery was speedier than he might have gotten outside of Black Mesa; he stayed in the cybernetics department for about a week and a half, frequently visited by Bubby before he was finally released to rest in the comfort of his own dorm.

Dr. Coomer was, at first, very eager to show off his flat chest and urge Bubby to punch him more powerfully again just to test his new ribs. They were much sturdier than regular bone; punching a little too hard without the gloves even hurt Bubby’s knuckles just a bit. Bubby was glad to see how happy it made Dr. Coomer, after how long he’d spent thinking about his wedding; it didn’t last very long, though. Once the novelty of the surgery faded, his mind seemed to wander back to the wedding all over again.

It had been about 8 months since Veronica left for basic training. Dr. Coomer and Bubby were sat on the roof of the dorms like they loved to do after dinner, drinking wine and enjoying each other’s company. Dr. Coomer was by no means a lightweight, so it surprised Bubby to suddenly realize he seemed to be drunk—it wasn’t like that happened by accident so easily, with the type of wine they drank.

“It’s just—I really didn’t see it at the time.” Dr. Coomer continued, already having begun a long, drunken rant. “I’ve never known her to be deliberately manipulative or anything, I truly don’t think she did that on _purpose._ But she never gave me the chance to talk about how her decision might impact me, she never included me in the conversation before just... _joining,_ without telling me until it was too late.”

Bubby nodded sympathetically.

“And turning the issue around so it was _my_ decision whether to leave or not, my decision whether to _marry_ her or not, in order to ‘preserve our relationship’—that’s so strange, isn’t it?” Dr. Coomer asked. “You think it’s strange, right?”

Bubby paused for a contemplative moment before shrugging. “Well, I don’t know that my answer would be unbiased, but I certainly think that’s weird.”

“I was _very_ happy to marry her.” Dr. Coomer said carefully. “I don’t want to say that she tricked me into that or anything, I ultimately chose to marry her because I _wanted_ to. I have for quite a while, actually. If my opportunity with Black Mesa hadn’t panned out, I might have followed her to Aperture instead and proposed once we were settled down. That’s what I was sort of planning at the time, anyway.”

Bubby, just as always with matters like this, wasn’t sure what to say. He just nodded again, sipping his wine and looking up at the sky. It was a beautiful night, like every night; they were very lucky to be out in the middle of nowhere, a facility mostly underground, so there wasn’t very much light pollution to block out the stars. Their weather was always so nice, too—at least in Bubby’s experience. He didn’t get outside too often.

“I...suppose this must be a strange subject for you, though.” Dr. Coomer admitted sheepishly suddenly. “Sorry. My filter’s off a bit tonight.”

“We’re past it.” Bubby said dismissively. “I just never know what to say, is all. Talk about it all you want.”

“I’m just not sure what I want to do when she gets back.” Dr. Coomer muttered, sighing and leaning against Bubby’s shoulder. “Having the time to think all of that over, the way our marriage was just...something that ultimately felt like it was meant to _placate_ me, whether she intended it that way or not, has really hurt me.”

Bubby nodded again, wrapping a comforting arm around Dr. Coomer. “...That sucks.” Bubby finally said.

“It _does._ ” Dr. Coomer whined. “I can’t believe I got married, only for my wife to disappear for a whole year. We didn’t even get to have our honeymoon.”

“I mean, you’ve _talked_ to her, right?” Bubby asked. “She still gets phone calls, doesn’t she?”

Dr. Coomer bit his lip. “I...haven’t actually spoken to her in a while.”

“Really? Why not?”

“She’s _called,_ it’s just—I haven’t picked up the phone.” Dr. Coomer admitted. “I’ve been processing what happened, and...I haven’t known what to say to her. I just can’t bring myself to answer if I don’t even feel I can give her my all as her husband. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah, I think so.” Bubby said. “Maybe you shouldn’t put it off, though.”

“You’re right. As always.” Dr. Coomer sighed.

“Well, of course.” Bubby replied casually with a shrug before biting his lip for a long moment. There was a question he desperately wanted to ask; he thought it was a question for Dr. Coomer’s own benefit, but he wondered if he was truly motivated out of jealousy. How does one ask the man he’s in love with about his marriage without sounding like he has ulterior motives? He shook his head slightly to himself, deciding to bite the bullet and ask.“...Do you think it’s a dealbreaker? It sounds like a massive disregard of your feelings, Coomer.”

Dr. Coomer didn’t reply for a long few moments. Bubby’s stomach churned as he began to wonder if he crossed a boundary before Dr. Coomer finally spoke again.

“...I’m not sure, to be honest.” He said thoughtfully. “She’s never done anything like this before, but it makes me wonder if she’d ever do anything like it in the future. If I let it slide with something this big, what does that say to her? That when it comes down to it, she doesn’t have to consider how it would affect me? And why should I be priortizing _maintaining_ my relationship with her if it’s caused me pain?”

Bubby nodded in understanding. “That all makes sense.”

“On the other hand...I don’t...” Dr. Coomer trailed off, wrapping his arms around Bubby. “I still love her. I feel like it’s much easier for me to consider all of this with the distance. Once she comes back, I don’t...believe I’ll have the strength to leave.”

Bubby frowned deeply. “That doesn’t sound great, Coomer.”

Dr. Coomer sighed again dramatically. “Oh, I know. I suppose I’m just drunk and sentimental. I’ll figure it all out when I’m sober.”

Bubby couldn’t help but snort at that. “Yeah, that’s fair.”

As the two of them sat there for a little while longer, Bubby silently sipping more wine as Dr. Coomer seemed to be dozing off a little, Bubby decided it was getting late. He nudged Dr. Coomer, careful to help him down from the roof so he wouldn’t hurt himself, and the two walked sleepily along down the halls in silence. Bubby was ready to say goodnight at the usual fork in the hallway, but he felt Dr. Coomer’s fingers lacing between his own before he got the chance to speak.

“Bubby?” Dr. Coomer said.

“Hm?”

“I don’t want to impose, but...could I sleep in your dorm tonight?” Dr. Coomer asked, looking at him with an expression that took Bubby off guard—he didn’t usually seem to allow himself to display his negative emotions, but right now, he looked so _lonely._

“Oh.” Bubby said in surprise, squeezing Dr. Coomer’s hand in his own. “Yeah. Of course.”

Bubby led Dr. Coomer back to his dorm. He’d slept in Dr. Coomer’s dorm before with no issue; what was _he_ supposed to do now, though, as the host?

“Umm—you can take my bed, if you want.” Bubby offered, remembering how Dr. Coomer had given his bed up for him that one night.

“Oh, no, there’s no reason for you to do that.” Dr. Coomer murmured, already moving away from Bubby to lie down clumsily on his couch. “I’m perfectly fine right here.”

“Come on, Coomer, you’ll hate it in the morning.” Bubby pointed out.

“Nope! I’m already here. You can’t move me now.” Dr. Coomer said with a playful smile on his face.

“I absolutely could, but fine, if you’re really sure.” Bubby said, excusing himself to his closet to pull out his old blanket. He now exclusively used the blanket Dr. Coomer gave him ages ago, the one his grandmother had made; he was glad he kept the old one Black Mesa had provided him. He sacrificed one of his pillows from his own bed and returned to the couch with them, handing them off to Dr. Coomer. “Sorry this blanket’s shit. It’s my old one from when I was living down in the biological research department.”

“Anything you have to offer is fine by me.” Dr. Coomer replied pleasantly.

Bubby set out a glass of water beside him too, telling him hastily to be sure to drink some before he paused in the doorway to his bedroom. Dr. Coomer was watching him from the couch, no doubt wondering why Bubby had stopped to stare at him. Bubby frowned; he _did_ want to say something, he just wasn’t sure if it was appropriate. He panicked as he wondered what else he could say to fill the silence, though, and blurted out his thoughts.

“How long have you been thinking about all that with Veronica?” Bubby asked him.

“Oh...a little while, I suppose. A few months.” Dr. Coomer replied. “Why?”

“If you’re upset about anything, Coomer, you don’t have to wait until you’re drunk to tell me.” He said. “And...I’m sure Veronica has been very good to you in the past. But...what she did with your marriage and her job and all...I think you deserve to be treated better.”

Dr. Coomer looked sheepish as he stared instead at the water Bubby had given him. “...I appreciate all that, Bubby. You’re very nice to say it. But...I’m not sure that I do.”

Bubby stared at Dr. Coomer in surprise, walking slowly to kneel down in front of the couch. “Of course you do. Why would you say you don’t?”

Dr. Coomer only shrugged.

“Well, don’t say shit like that.” Bubby scolded. “I don’t know _who_ gave you the idea that you don’t, but whoever it was, they’re wrong. Okay?”

Dr. Coomer nodded. “You’re very sweet to me, Bubby. Thank you.”

“Yeah, well, it’s the least I can do, I guess.” Bubby muttered in embarrassment as he stood. “Goodnight, Coomer.”

Dr. Coomer looked disappointed as Bubby turned to leave. Bubby wasn’t sure there was much else he could do for him at this point; he only hoped if Dr. Coomer needed something from him, he’d voice it. “Goodnight, Bubby.” He replied quietly as Bubby returned to his room.


	9. Chapter 9

The next few months of Veronica’s training rolled by agonizingly slow. Despite Bubby trying to encourage Dr. Coomer to open up about his dilemma, he didn’t seem intent on discussing it; so, instead, Bubby just did his best to be by his side and support him however else he could. Dr. Coomer had many more nights he requested to sleep in Bubby’s dorm, or asked Bubby to stay over; Bubby always obliged, both eager to spend the extra time with him, staving off the loneliness together and to help Dr. Coomer however he could.

Dr. Coomer’s cheery demeanor did drop more often than it had before his contemplation about the wedding, too, despite how often he insisted to Bubby he was fine. He joked less, laughed less, and showed much less energy, even in boxing club. Bubby wasn’t sure what he was meant to do, if Dr. Coomer wouldn’t let him help—so he always just stood there in silence with him, hoping it was enough. They were both leaned against the wall of the club room, watching another pair fight as everyone else cheered, until finally, the pair broke away to make room for another match. Dr. Coomer nudged Bubby with his elbow.

“Would you like to box with me, Bubby?” He asked, a playful grin suddenly spreading across his face. 

“What, would that get you to stop moping?” Bubby retorted. 

“Moping? I’m not moping.” Dr. Coomer argued, already slipping on his boxing gloves. 

“Yes you are. You haven’t even knocked anyone out all night.” 

Dr. Coomer jabbed Bubby’s shoulder a couple times provocatively. “Keep up that attitude, and that’s going to change!” 

Bubby rolled his eyes, setting his glasses aside and putting on the spare pair of gloves sitting nearby. “Fine, but don’t get all upset again when you lose.” 

Dr. Coomer knew, at this point, Bubby was never going to go anything but easy on him; it still did seem to bring him a lot of joy to box with him anyway, though, so Bubby always obliged. Their match quickly attracted the attention of the rest of the club, and soon, they were all cheering enthusiastically, distracting Bubby significantly and allowing Dr. Coomer to get in several hard hits against him. Bubby staggered back, and Dr. Coomer followed him, taking advantage of Bubby’s surprise to loop his arm around his neck and pull him down into a headlock. 

“What was that about how I was going to lose?” Dr. Coomer taunted, tousling Bubby’s hair with his glove. 

“This is a bullshit move, and you know it.” Bubby criticized. 

Bubby was just getting ready to free himself when he heard the door open. He looked up at the figure now stood in the doorway. He couldn’t see without his glasses, but it wasn’t a figure he recognized right off the bat, sending a burst of panic through him—someone unfamiliar discovering the club could force them to disband, and perhaps there’d be repercussions—but Dr. Coomer’s reaction told Bubby everything. He gasped, releasing Bubby immediately and rushing forward.

“Veronica!” He exclaimed. Bubby reached for his glasses, watching with clear eyes now as Dr. Coomer wrapped her up tightly and lifted her off the ground to spin her.

“Hi Harold!” She greeted, hugging him back.

“This is—oh my goodness, I didn’t think I’d see you for at least another week!” He said in shock, setting her down and holding her by her shoulders.

She definitely _looked_ different; more muscular by a longshot, standing up straighter, and wearing her hair that she looked like she’d grown out a little bit back in a tight ponytail. “I think you miscounted, Harold.” She replied, a conflicted look beginning to show through on her face. “...Can we talk?”

“Of course!” Dr. Coomer replied, pulling his boxing gloves off and scrambling to collect his things. His eyes met Bubby’s as he reconciled all his belongings in his arms. “Sorry, Bubby, it looks like we’ll have to continue our match some other time.”

“What, so you can cheat again?” Bubby scoffed. “Go on, go be with your wife.”

Dr. Coomer left with Veronica after that, Bubby deciding to stay behind for a few minutes to allow them privacy on the walk back. He watched a few more matches before leaving himself, pausing at the fork in the hallway to look towards Dr. Coomer’s dorm.

He wondered how things were going between them as he turned, heading back towards his own dorm. He wasn’t even sure what he wanted the outcome to be, or what would be selfish of him to want. Ultimately, whatever it took, he just wanted to see Dr. Coomer happy again.

****

Bubby didn’t see Dr. Coomer that weekend, nor at the tram stop like always the following Monday. It made sense; a lot had happened, and surely, Dr. Coomer needed a little extra time than usual. Bubby couldn’t help but find himself snippier with his coworkers that day, stressed without confirmation on how Dr. Coomer was doing. As the day was starting to draw to a close, he was jolted from his work by his phone ringing on his desk. Expecting it to be someone from biological research, Bubby answered it impatiently.

“Hello?” He answered irritably.

“Bubby!” Dr. Coomer greeted.

“Coomer!” Bubby said, much kinder this time. “I didn’t see you today.”

“Yes, I took the day off.” Dr. Coomer replied, his tone relaxed for the moment. After a pause, though, his voice grew a little more tentative. “I was wondering if you would like to have dinner with me and Veronica tonight.”

Bubby sat down in his chair, mind racing a little. “Oh—yes, of course.”

“Wonderful! I’m almost done cooking, just drop in whenever you’re ready.”

Bubby agreed and hung up after that, quickly finishing up his work so he could go straight to Dr. Coomer’s dorm afterward. He knocked on the door a couple times, greeted swiftly by Dr. Coomer, who gave him a wide grin.

“Hello, Bubby!” He said kindly.

He didn’t pull him in for a hug like usual, simply stepping aside to let Bubby in. Bubby headed inside, eyes locking with Veronica as she sat on the couch. As if she needed to be absolutely certain Bubby knew she was in the military now, she was wearing the baggy camo pants from her uniform and her hair tied back into a bun, but at least she just had a regular plain white t-shirt to give the illusion of a more casual look. She stood, holding her hand out to Bubby.

“Hi, Bubby.” She greeted with a smile.

Bubby shook her hand. “Hello, Veronica.”

Dr. Coomer ushered them both to the dining table, where he set out a pot of soup and poured them each healthy servings. Once everyone had a bowl, he sat down himself with a sigh of contentment, looking to Veronica. Bubby studied his expression—he expected something to be hidden underneath his smile, something that suggested he was tense or upset, but Bubby genuinely couldn’t tell if he was just trying to find what wasn’t there or if it was simply well hidden. He looked so whole-heartedly relaxed and content for the first time in a long time.

They were quiet at the table for a while, the silence only broken by their spoons clinking their bowls. It was only as the silence grew longer and longer that Dr. Coomer seemed to grow a little tense, so he cleared his throat and broke it.

“Veronica, did I already tell you about the time Bubby tried to make a casserole?” He asked, looking at Bubby with a knowing smile.

“Coomer, if you told her that story, I will actually kill you.”

Dr. Coomer barked out a loud laugh.

“I don’t think I heard the story, no.” Veronica said, a small, curious smile on her face.

“He left something in the oven when he set it to preheat—what was it again, Bubby?” Dr. Coomer grinned at Bubby—he knew exactly what it was, he just wanted to make Bubby say it.

Bubby sighed. “The box set of the complete first season of Star Trek he got me.”

“Why was it in your _oven?_ ” Veronica questioned with a laugh.

“It’s just—I don’t use it that often!” Bubby defended. “I have one of the small dorms, there’s not a lot of storage space, so sometimes I put things in there to get them out of the way! It just makes sense!”

Bubby’s face flushed with embarrassment as Dr. Coomer and Veronica laughed for a long few seconds.

“It caught on fire while the oven was preheating, and the whole section of the dormitories had to evacuate.” Dr. Coomer said, wiping a tear from his eye.

“Oh, god, that reminds me of a time in training.” Veronica chimed in, still laughing.

Bubby looked at Dr. Coomer, and he saw it—his smile fell, and he immediately looked down at his bowl, brow furrowing. Veronica continued on about some fire drill story, not even noticing Dr. Coomer’s change in disposition. Bubby wanted to reach over the table to take his hand, but he decided against it, instead occupying himself with a long sip of his soup. She finished her story, clearly waiting for them to laugh, but Dr. Coomer was lost in thought, and Bubby simply didn’t find it very funny. When she was met by silence, she shifted in her seat uncomfortably and looked back down at her soup.

“O-oh, I’m sorry, honey.” Dr. Coomer suddenly said, reaching over to take her hand. “I just got distracted for a second. Could you repeat that?”

“No, no. It’s fine.” She replied, shaking her head. “I wouldn’t want to bore you two.”

“Come on, I would love to hear your story!” Dr. Coomer insisted, scooting his chair closer to her and resting his chin in his hand, giving her his undivided attention. “Please?”

“...I’m going to the bathroom.” She said, standing suddenly and heading straight into the bathroom.

Dr. Coomer let out a deep sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. Bubby twirled his spoon awkwardly, wondering what would be appropriate for him to say. Would trying to comfort him make him more stressed?

“...The soup is good.” Bubby finally complimented.

Dr. Coomer forced a smile, relaxing a little in his seat. “Thanks, Bubby.”

Eventually, Veronica returned, and things got a little less tense as Dr. Coomer told more funny stories from when she was gone. She told a couple more stories from her training in turn, and Dr. Coomer was careful about his reactions this time. It was hard to watch—knowing how much Dr. Coomer had struggled without her, watching him _trying_ to return to normal, only to find that things seemed to be too different, now. Veronica had changed a lot, Bubby couldn’t help but note; not that that would be much of a surprise, but that spark Bubby had struggled to accept between her and Dr. Coomer just seemed to be...gone, now, despite their clear mutual efforts.

Bubby wondered particularly strongly now what direction they’d take in their relationship; as much as he wanted things to work out for Dr. Coomer’s sake, he wasn’t sure there was anywhere to go from here for them but down.

****

It wasn’t long after that Dr. Coomer and Veronica left on their honeymoon, an entire year later after their wedding. Bubby spent his time alone, lonely without Dr. Coomer—but managing, all things considered.

Bubby had been preparing himself to go to bed one night, three days before Dr. Coomer was meant to come back before he heard a knock at his door. He expected it to be a much more unpleasant visit, someone asking him to come down to the biological research department for an impromptu test or something—instead, though, Bubby was shocked to find Dr. Coomer there with his suitcase, fiddling with his fingers anxiously.

“Dr. Coomer?” Bubby asked in surprise. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be on your honeymoon?”

Dr. Coomer nodded. “Yes, I...really ought to be.” He murmured. “It wasn’t going very well, to be honest. We...decided to come home early.”

Bubby stepped aside to let Dr. Coomer in. Dr. Coomer walked in gratefully, running his fingers through his hair and sitting down on the couch as Bubby closed the door behind him.

“What happened?” Bubby asked as he sat down beside him.

“Oh, she was just...understandably upset about how I didn’t return her calls for so long.” Dr. Coomer replied, twirling his hair around his finger. “She wanted to know why I didn’t respond, and I just...I didn’t know what to say. I kept rehearsing it in my head for so long, wanting to ask her about our marriage and her new job and all, but...I just didn’t.”

“It’s not like that’s an easy thing to bring up, I’m sure.” Bubby said sympathetically.

Dr. Coomer nodded with a deep sigh. “Yeah. So...we came home, and she told me to take the time I needed to figure out what I need to say, but...not to try and speak to her until we can truly settle things.”

Bubby sucked in air through his teeth. “Yikes.”

Dr. Coomer leaned back on the couch, staring down at the wedding ring on his finger. “...I know I’m making things worse by avoiding it. And honestly, that only contributes to my inability to try and make things right at this point! I keep letting things get worse between us, because I just keep freezing up whenever I have the chance to talk to her about the problem!”

Dr. Coomer leaned forward to bury his face in his hands, letting out a long, agonized groan. Bubby placed his hand on Dr. Coomer’s back gently.

“...Are you just...afraid she’ll leave?” Bubby asked him carefully.

“I don’t know at this point.” Dr. Coomer mumbled. He sat up a little, looking up to Bubby with a small smile. “I don’t think my parents set a very good example, honestly, and now I have no idea how to handle this.”

He laughed at that, but Bubby couldn’t imagine finding that funny. He could at least relate on some level—not that he had parents, of course, but he knew the feeling of realizing he’d never learned these sorts of social skills naturally as he grew.

“I suppose I _am_ afraid she’ll leave.” Dr. Coomer admitted. “You’re right about that, certainly. It’s just...complicated, is all.”

After a long pause, Bubby unsure what to say to that, Dr. Coomer looked to Bubby tentatively.

“Um...I hate to ask this.” He said awkwardly. “But...all of that considered...would you mind if I stayed with you until I figure out what to say? Since she moved into my dorm and all.”

“Yeah, whatever, stay as long as you want.” Bubby replied dismissively. He didn’t let it show through in his tone, just out of instinct not to be too overbearing with his feelings towards him, but genuinely, he was looking forward to having the company.

Dr. Coomer let out a short, relieved sigh. “Thank you, Bubby.”

Dr. Coomer stayed with Bubby for the following few days, still taking advantage of his time off by remaining in his dorm while Bubby went off to work. It was nice, if Bubby was honest. He felt a little selfish for enjoying it—Dr. Coomer was clearly struggling, but at least Bubby didn’t have to return to an empty dorm, like always. Despite the circumstances, he liked sharing his space with him.

Eventually, though, on the final day before Dr. Coomer’s vacation ended, he spent a while pacing back and forth, muttering to himself while Bubby tried to keep his focus on cooking dinner before standing up tall and announcing he was going to go talk to Veronica. Bubby wished him luck, and just like that, Dr. Coomer was gone.

Bubby looked down at the pasta he’d been making. Enough for two. There was the possibility Dr. Coomer would be back—but that wasn’t a possibility to hope for in this situation, was it? He scolded to himself. He sighed as he finished the final touches on it, serving a portion for himself and stowing the rest in his fridge.

As predicted, Dr. Coomer didn’t return that night.

****

Harold’s communication skills were, often, less than subpar. He really _tried_ —it wasn’t out of a lack of interest in seeing situations resolved, it was just difficult to get his feelings sorted out most of the time, let alone voice them when he knew it would hurt to hear.

He wasn’t a stranger to the fact that he got that from his parents, certainly. They were always passive aggressive with each other and anyone else, and let things get blown way out of proportion. Any little issue could go from, “I simply think it’s interesting how you never replace the toilet paper roll” to, “we should have gotten divorced before our first child was born”. Harold didn’t want to be like that; living in a house like that had been torture until he headed out for college and learned through his new roommate that you could simply just _ask_ them to be a little quieter without it turning into a whole confrontation that ended in a miserable night. That shouldn’t have been such a mind-blowing revelation, but hey, Harold was taking life one step at a time.

It couldn’t be too much of a surprise that an issue as large as he was currently experiencing with his wife would be incredibly difficult for him to voice. After days of working up the courage in Bubby’s dorm, though, he finally did it. He returned to his dorm, sat down with her, and told her he had a lot of time to process that her career choice hurt him, let alone the way she concealed her decision from him until last minute.

He’d expected things to blow up after that—they always did with his parents, at least, and they were one of the few married couples he knew well enough to base his expectations off of. Veronica kept herself level, though, and apologized.

That had been shocking to Harold, to say the least. She told him she understood his feelings on the matter, and although she wished it hadn’t taken so long for him to voice this to her, she wasn’t going to hold it against him.

Harold wasn’t sure what to do, now. He had sort of been expecting their relationship to fall apart, considering how important this career choice was to her compared to how deeply it hurt him. They were just...moving on, though. Did he _want_ that? He wondered to himself. Or did he _wish_ things had fallen apart?

Maybe he just needed time to adjust to their new marriage, though, he considered. So he just took the end point of their conversation as a relief, and they settled into their new life together.

The requirements of her new job were mysterious, though, to say the least. She would disappear entirely for days at a time, and upon her return, she would never tell him what she had been up to. She always seemed tired and stressed afterward, too; even when she was home, she hardly ever seemed to have time for him. Harold despised how much he kept wondering to himself if they should just get a divorce—after all of the stress, all of the effort they’d gone through, shouldn’t he at least _try_ to wait this out? Things would settle _eventually,_ right?

So Harold pushed on, letting things come as they may. He continued working in hazardous waste, heard plenty about what anomalous materials and other departments were up to from Bubby, who had taken to department hopping again, and things just went on.

Something that he hadn’t really been forced to contend with during this time, though, was the influx of prototypes. Although the hazardous waste department could always use an extra hand, other departments were always considered more in dire need of assistance, so he never actually interacted with prototypes. Not until, at least, Harold swore he saw Bubby at the entrance of the hazardous waste department.

“Bubby?” Harold called. He _hadn’t_ seen Bubby that morning on the tram—maybe he came here early? He thought.

Bubby gave Harold a startled look, curling in on himself a little in a way Harold had never seen before. Harold tilted his head curiously, finally piecing together that this _wasn’t_ the Bubby he knew. He approached all the same, unsure how to act, but deciding to be polite regardless.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I mistook you for, uhhh...another Bubby, I suppose.” Harold admitted. “Are you...going to work in hazardous waste?”

The prototype nodded, adjusting his glasses on his face. “Th-they...told me to wait here for...someone who would train me. He hasn’t shown up, though.”

“Ahh, that might be my supervisor.” Harold said with a nod. “Well, you don’t have to wait out here, it’s possible he’s already inside. Come along!”

Harold led the way for the prototype, taking him to the break room. This prototype was very jumpy, Harold noticed; honestly, it sort of reminded him of way back when he first met Bubby. Bubby had relaxed significantly over the past few years, no longer so hyperaware of every sound around him, but this prototype looked _miserable._ It was so strange; Harold wanted to comfort him the same way he always did for Bubby, but this _wasn’t_ Bubby. This prototype had no idea who he was, let alone Harold’s feelings towards Bubby that would make this so odd for him.

It took a few days for Harold to finally feel like he could separate the two in his head entirely. The prototype had a very different sense of humor, didn’t talk quite as much—as opposed to Bubby, who talked a _lot_ —and actually didn’t seem to like Harold very much. It was very, _very_ strange to feel rejected by a man who was very nearly his closest friend he’d had for years; he had just sort of mindlessly expected them to become at least workplace acquaintances, but this prototype withdrew entirely from Harold, instead talking to other scientists much more amiably.

Harold sat on the tram, drumming his fingers on his knee as Bubby joined him at the usual stop. He took one look at Harold and quirked his eyebrow quizzically as he sat down beside him.

“What’s the matter with you?” Bubby asked him.

Harold let out a short huff. “Oh, it’s...nothing.”

Bubby nudged him with his elbow. “I doubt _that._ What’s going on?”

Harold sighed, brushing his fingers through his hair. “It’s just...well, one of the prototypes is working in my department, now.”

Bubby gave Harold a look of surprise, leaning back and crossing his arms. “Oh, god. I’ll bet _that’s_ a nightmare.”

“No, no, he’s not causing any trouble.” Harold denied, waving his hand dismissively. “He’s just...well...he doesn’t seem to like me very much.”

Bubby paused for a moment, as if waiting for Harold to add something else. Finally, though, he only shrugged. “So?”

“Well—it’s odd!” Harold admitted, face flushing now that he realized how small a complaint this must be. “I sort of expected we’d at least be friends. I wanted to be, at least. He seems like he’s really struggling, and I was hoping to help him adjust a little bit to the new department, but...he just doesn’t seem to want to talk to me.”

“I mean, you can’t be friends with _everyone,_ Coomer.” Bubby pointed out.

“Yes, yes, I know.” Harold huffed impatiently. “It’s just...strange to feel rejected by one of the prototypes.”

“What, because he looks like me?” Bubby asked, clearly unmoved by Harold’s struggle. “That’s all it is, Coomer. He just _looks_ like me. The prototypes are nothing like me, beyond that. You’re lucky, honestly, they’re all much less impressive than me.”

Harold couldn’t help but snicker playfully at that. “Ah, yes, you’re _very_ impressive, Bubby. I know.”

With that, Harold relaxed a little bit, finding it easier to adjust the way he viewed the prototypes. It would never not be _weird,_ but it grew easier for Harold to distinguish between any prototype and Bubby, and months down the line, it was just another little Black Mesa oddity.

****

Nothing quite returned to what Bubby had wanted to consider “normal” between them, as years came and went. Dr. Coomer maintained his marriage with Veronica, despite the stress it always seemed to bring him; rather than becoming more detached, though, Dr. Coomer instead found other ways to occupy his time while Veronica was out on whatever job she was currently assigned to. One thing he seemed to enjoy a lot was volunteering for Black Mesa projects—namely, cybernetics. There was generally a mandatory three-year waiting period between experimental surgeries he was allowed to sign up for, but the waiting period always seemed to fly by, and Dr. Coomer would be ready for something else.

He seemed to mostly use it to replace parts of his body that gave him trouble; Bubby remembered with his EDS, he’d end up subluxating his elbows quite frequently, so Dr. Coomer signed up to have “extendo-arms” installed. Then PowerLegs, then PowerLungs—with each replacement, he only got stronger, and _much_ more enthusiastic about his passion for boxing.

As opposed to years in the past, when Bubby would only ever go easy on him, he was now the only one who stood a chance at all against Dr. Coomer. Dr. Coomer seemed to revel in that; even though the challenge had been removed from his matches with everyone else, their fights got a lot more exciting, and it seemed to become the highlight of boxing night every week.

They were currently engaged in a match at the moment; Bubby was currently overwhelming Dr. Coomer this time, everyone else cheering loudly before the door opened. The unfamiliar face wearing an expensive looking suit they found in the doorway made everyone immediately go sheepishly silent; the club hadn’t been discovered in the many years it had been in operation, retaining an incredibly close-knit community—had someone accidentally let it slip? Bubby wondered.

“Can I help you?” Dr. Coomer asked, shockingly collected for a man who had just been caught wailing on his friend against company policy.

“Oh, don’t mind me.” The man said, leaning against the wall casually. “I’m not here to get anyone in trouble. I’m something of a boxing enthusiast myself, I just wanted to see a match or two.”

Everyone exchanged uncomfortable glances.

“No, really, go ahead.” The man insisted, nodding at Dr. Coomer and Bubby. “Trust me, if I was going to bust you, I would’ve done it already.”

It took a little bit more insisting, but Dr. Coomer eventually threw another punch, and the two of them continued their match. Bubby won again, as a good number of their matches went, and the man clapped for them as Bubby helped Dr. Coomer back up.

“Excellent form, you two.” The man complimented, stepping over to hold out his hand to Dr. Coomer. “I’ve heard much about your participation with cybernetics, Dr. Coomer. I was wondering if you’d like to chat about volunteering for another Black Mesa project.”

“...What project?” Dr. Coomer asked curiously, removing a glove to shake his hand.

The man led Dr. Coomer out of the room to discuss the details. Bubby took his spot next to the door, the rest of the room eerily silent as they all strained to hear their conversation. The man was speaking to Dr. Coomer too quietly for anyone to hear, to Bubby’s great dismay, but Dr. Coomer’s loud, shocked response filled them in plenty.

“You want to _clone_ me?!”

Bubby exchanged a look with the other club members as the man shushed him, and they continued their conversation in a whisper. After a few minutes, they suddenly exchanged goodbyes, and everyone but Bubby attempted to look casual as Dr. Coomer headed back inside. He quietly shut the door behind him, waiting until he was sure the man was gone to speak.

“Did you all hear that?” He asked in bewilderment.

Everyone else looked too sheepish to reply, so Bubby answered for them. “A _cloning_ project?” He questioned.

“Yes!” Dr. Coomer replied, running a hand through his hair. “I mean, I said no, but I don’t think anything could have prepared me for that offer.”

“We’ve already got a million Bubbys running around the facility, we don’t need a million Coomers, either.” One of the scientists commented with a laugh.

Dr. Coomer laughed as well while Bubby huffed and crossed his arms.

“I think having clones of me would be a little odd.” Dr. Coomer agreed.

“And he just walked away when you said no?” Bubby asked suspiciously.

“Well, yes. It’s a paid opportunity, I’m sure he’ll find someone else willing to accept.” Dr. Coomer tilted his head curiously at Bubby. “Why wouldn’t he?”

“...Hm. It’s nothing.” Bubby muttered.

Maybe Bubby’s paranoia of Black Mesa was showing through a little too much, he thought—if it was a paid opportunity, Dr. Coomer was right; there were plenty of other people they could ask. So why did he have such a bad feeling about this?


	10. Chapter 10

“Coomer?”

Harold looked up as the two of them sat at Bubby’s dinner table. Veronica was out on one of her jobs again, so the two of them were alone together again for the night; Bubby had seemed pensive all evening, though, deep in thought until now.

“Yes, Bubby?” Harold asked.

Bubby set his fork down, fixing Harold with a very cautious, tentative look. “...I was wondering if you’d...do something for me.”

“Well, I’ll certainly try!” Harold replied kindly. “What is it?”

Bubby took in a deep breath. “There’s that lunar eclipse happening tonight. I know we can see it partially from here, if we go up on the roof again, but...well, I was looking some things over, and...it looks like the point we could see the total eclipse isn’t actually _too_ far off. Only a couple of hours away.”

Harold stared at Bubby for a moment. “Oh!” He finally said, when he’d taken much too long to process his request. “You want me to take you there to see it?”

Bubby nodded wordlessly.

“Oh, goodness—when? Where?” Harold asked, looking at the time and hurriedly scooping up his lab coat. “If it’s _tonight,_ we’d better hurry!”

“What— _now?_ ” Bubby asked, standing up as well.

“It’d be better to leave as soon as possible, I think.” Harold said. “How far off was it?”

“Uhh...about four hours.” Bubby replied, glancing at the time as well. “If we left now, we’d have about...two hours until the eclipse.”

“Right, that sounds doable.” Harold said thoughtfully. “Still, wouldn’t it be nice to get out there early, just enjoy the night?”

Bubby nodded. “Oh. Yeah, I guess it does.”

“Okay! You stay here for just a few minutes, then.” Harold said, pulling his lab coat on. “I’m going to go get my car parked somewhere outside of camera view. I’ll come back for you in a few minutes, ‘escort’ you out, and then we can go.”

Bubby only nodded again, looking surprised by how well thought out this was. Harold may have been asked to stop planning an escape years ago, but that never stopped him from holding onto his previous plans; he rushed out of Bubby’s dorm, trying to look casual as he headed for his car in the parking lot.

As predicted, the guard at the exit stopped him momentarily before letting him out, and Harold drove the short distance to the outcropping of rocks he always planned to park by. It was a bit tighter than he’d anticipated, but it worked; he hopped out of his car and hurried back to the main pedestrian entrance of the dorms. There was usually a guard posted in the lobby throughout the day; in the evening, though, the guard tended to roam, allowing Harold the privacy needed to scan his badge and let himself in without scrutiny. He returned to Bubby’s dorm, Bubby standing there in the center of his dorm with a map folded up neatly in his hands.

“Ready?” Harold asked him with an excited smile.

“Yes.” Bubby replied tentatively, following Harold out the door.

After locking the door behind him, the two did their best to walk at a leisurely, unexcited pace. Harold held out his hand to indicate for Bubby to stop as they grew close to the lobby; quietly, Harold tiptoed forward to peer around the corner. When he found the lobby still empty, he nodded for Bubby to follow, and they rushed out the lobby door together.

As the two of them began walking outside, Harold felt Bubby’s hand grasping his own tightly. Harold looked back, watching him as he squeezed the map in his free hand tight enough to crinkle it.

“Nervous?” Harold asked him.

“Well—you can’t expect this to be easy for me.” Bubby told him impatiently.

“It’s going to be fun!” Harold said with a comforting smile as they arrived at the car.

Bubby paused to stare at it, tightening his grip on Harold’s hand so he couldn’t go to the driver’s seat. Harold watched Bubby as he took a deep breath, glancing back to the facility behind him.

“O-okay.” He muttered before releasing Harold’s hand.

The two of them climbed into the car, Harold sitting down comfortably in the driver’s seat as Bubby took the passenger seat awkwardly.

“N-never...been in a car before.” Bubby said quietly.

“Ah, you know what? You might need, umm...” Harold began digging through the compartment between the passenger and the driver’s seat, picking up a small bottle of motion sickness medication. “You may need this, then!”

Bubby just shook his head, though, clamping his jaw shut. Harold nodded and set the bottle back down, settling instead to just get them on the road. Bubby shakily curled up in his seat as the car began moving.

“What direction should we go?” Harold asked him gently.

“Uhhh...” Bubby unfurled his map. “O-once we hit the road, go...left.”

Harold followed his direction, leaning back a little once they were properly on the road. He glanced over in concern as he heard Bubby’s breath grow ragged, clearly struggling to breathe. He was curled up in his seat more, burying his head in his arms.

“Are you alright, Bubby?” Harold asked him quietly.

“I-I...” Bubby took in a sharp breath, peering up out the windshield from behind his arms before quickly hiding his face again. “I can’t do this.”

“Oh. Of course, Bubby.” Harold replied, doing his best not to sound disappointed. “Would you like to turn around?”

Bubby didn’t respond. Harold elected to turn around regardless, Bubby making no objections as he did. As they arrived back at Black Mesa, Harold parked back behind the rocks again, unlatching his seatbelt and stepping around to the other side of the car to open Bubby’s door gently.

“We’re back, Bubby.” Harold announced, gingerly placing a hand on Bubby’s shoulder. “Let’s get back inside.”

Bubby shakily complied, still covering his head as they walked back towards the dormitory entrance. Harold guided him cautiously, paying no mind to the guard who was now back in the lobby and giving them a quizzical look. Once Bubby was back in the safety of his dorm, he finally relaxed a little, uncovering his head and heading straight for his bedroom. He burrowed himself underneath his blanket—still the very same one Harold had given him years ago.

“I’m going to go move my car.” Harold announced to him. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

“O-okay.” Bubby called back.

Harold did as he said he would, quickly moving his car back into the parking garage and rushing back to Bubby’s dorm. Once he got back, he sat down cautiously on the edge of Bubby’s bed, placing a hand around where his shoulder might be.

“I’m sorry, Bubby.” Harold said quietly.

Bubby shivered underneath his blanket, the quiet, muffled sounds of sobs barely making it through under the thick fabric.

“We can still watch the eclipse, if you’re up for it.” Harold suggested, rubbing his hand over Bubby’s back. “Or, if not...I can still stay here with you. We could just spend the evening in.”

Bubby didn’t reply; he did take his hand out from the blanket, though, finding Harold’s hand and squeezing it. They stayed like that for a few long minutes before he seemed to relax enough to pull himself out, sitting up with a deep sigh. He took his glasses off to wipe at his eyes, then cleaned his glasses off on his shirt before setting them back on his face.

“I’m sorry.” Bubby murmured. “I-...I hoped I’d get over it.”

Harold pulled Bubby into a gentle hug. “You don’t need to apologize to me! I’m sorry it was so overwhelming. Would you like me to stay?”

Bubby nodded against Harold’s shoulder.

“I will, then. Perhaps we could watch a movie, instead.” Harold suggested.

Still wrapped up in his blanket, Bubby followed Harold out to the living room, where they picked out a movie to watch. They ended up picking out a shitty sci-fi movie, and before the movie was halfway over, Bubby was back to his long scientific rants, pointing out where the movie went wrong at any opportunity. Harold enjoyed it immensely—he always loved seeing Bubby get worked up and passionate like this. Harold could sit with him forever, enjoying the sound of his voice, the way he gesticulated wildly, and how he responded to Harold’s teasing.

Harold loved Bubby. That fact had never changed. He wanted to give him any little comfort or luxury he could, in the confines of Black Mesa. He would always be there for him, as long as he possibly could; and he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, Bubby would be there for him, too. Even if they had agreed not to date due to the future pain it could cause if Harold had to leave Black Mesa forever, would it really even be easier this way? He wondered. Just because they weren’t seeing each other romantically didn’t mean those feelings weren’t there, nor did it mean it wouldn’t likely ruin him if he was forced apart from Bubby forever.

Harold _loved_ Bubby, more than he could put to words.

And he had loved Veronica, once; perhaps now, he much preferred an image of her that was no longer true to who she was. What was he clinging to, now? A strained marriage, and many, many long nights spent alone while she worked a job that Harold had been so vocally opposed to? Nothing had even changed once Harold voiced his concern. She had only accepted it, and they just moved on without another word about the pain it caused him—was that truly reconciliation? Or just Harold giving in to the easiest solution?

It wasn’t like he was specifically choosing Bubby over Veronica, he thought to himself as Bubby leaned comfortably against him. He smiled a little, wrapping his arms around him with a small sigh. It was just...

Too much. It was too much, Harold decided, maintaining his marriage with Veronica, now. He wanted to finally take action, he decided.

Just...later. For now, he was going to enjoy his night with Bubby.

****

Bubby awoke one Saturday morning, a few days after their attempted jailbreak, to find a familiar form curled up on his couch. Bubby stared at Dr. Coomer, clearly still asleep there. Bubby only sighed a little, retrieving his spare blanket from the closet and draping it over him before heading into the kitchen to make coffee. Dr. Coomer woke up as well soon after—he didn’t even move, Bubby just heard his voice from the couch, small and broken.

“We’re getting a divorce.”

Bubby nearly dropped his mug in shock. He set it down carefully instead, standing and moving to sit down on the edge of the coffee table in front of the couch.

“What happened?” Bubby asked him.

“...I decided it just...needed to happen.” Dr. Coomer admitted. “We weren’t happy. Every time she would come back, we barely spoke, and...I’m still stuck on the circumstances of our marriage, as well. I was waiting for so long for something to change, but honestly...I don’t think anything ever would. And even if that change happened years down the line, would that really justify how things are now?”

Unsure what to say, Bubby remained silent as Dr. Coomer just sighed. After a while, Dr. Coomer finally sat up, and Bubby moved to sit down next to him. He wrapped himself up in the blanket, laying his head in his lap.

“...How are you feeling about it?” Bubby finally asked.

“...Nothing. But also everything.” Dr. Coomer groaned.

Bubby nodded.

“Bubby?”

“Hm?”

“Do you still love me?”

Bubby froze in surprise, face going hot. “Wh-why do you ask?”

Dr. Coomer shrugged.

“Well—don’t ask something like that for no reason!” Bubby scolded. He regretted his harsh tone when Dr. Coomer didn’t match his energy with a smile or a laugh like usual, so he settled down and pushed his glasses up on his face. “...I do.”

Dr. Coomer didn’t reply. He just nodded, pulling a hand out of the blanket so he could take Bubby’s. Bubby squeezed his hand, chest aching with some mixture of sadness and longing. He knew Dr. Coomer wasn’t looking for any sort of relationship with him, after how extensively they’d discussed that they simply couldn’t; maybe he just needed the reassurance, Bubby considered. He certainly couldn’t blame him.

Dr. Coomer stayed with Bubby for a few days. He was despondent in an entirely new way Bubby hadn’t seen before. Bubby was at a loss for what to do or say; at least before, he knew there was the possibility of _something_ working out. Now, though, he’d just bitten the bullet and left the woman he’d loved for so long. What could Bubby even say about that?

In their days spent together, Bubby struggled to find the balance between forcing Dr. Coomer into activity for his own good versus letting him get some well-deserved rest. He had been in his kitchen one evening while Dr. Coomer sat on his couch, listening to some of his old music—Bubby wasn’t sure if it was great for him, honestly, considering a lot of the songs seemed to be ones he associated with Veronica, but he kept silent as he stirred a pot of shitty boxed macaroni. He was beginning to realize a little too late he’d forgotten to put in milk when a song started that made his chest swell with a thousand different complicated emotions. The gentle melodic humming echoed into the kitchen as Bubby stopped to turn towards Dr. Coomer. He’d already stood from the couch, approaching Bubby slowly. Wordlessly, he stopped in front of him, lifting one hand—and Bubby knew exactly what he wanted.

Bubby abandoned the pot of shitty macaroni, tracing his fingers up Dr. Coomer’s palm before lacing them between his. Dr. Coomer held his hand tightly, almost cutting off Bubby’s circulation in his fingers as he placed his other hand on his lower waist and pulled him in close, immediately burying his face into Bubby’s shoulder. Bubby sighed, putting his other hand on Dr. Coomer’s shoulder as they started swaying to the music. The exact same song they’d danced to before his wedding. They were completely silent as the song played, and once it ended, they simply stood there and held each other. Bubby felt Dr. Coomer’s breathing grow ragged.

“It...it’ll be alright.” Bubby tried to say reassuringly.

Dr. Coomer laughed. Bubby tilted his head in confusion, watching as Dr. Coomer pulled away from him just enough for them to look at each other properly. He wiped a tear from his eye, smiling at Bubby.

“I think the macaroni is burning.” Dr. Coomer said.

“Oh, goddammit.” Bubby huffed, turning to look at the pot. Sure enough, there was smoke beginning to billow up from inside. Growling in frustration, Bubby placed two fingers to his temple.

“Bubby—”

Flames burst from inside the pot, flickering over the top of it and licking at the shelf above it that held the microwave. The fire alarm went off, drilling into their ears painfully.

“Now it’s _really_ burning.” Bubby said over the fire alarm with a grin.

Dr. Coomer burst into laughter, tears rolling down his face. After a moment, the two of them took the fire seriously, putting it out and stopping the alarm before there was any real damage.

“I think I’ll order us a pizza.” Dr. Coomer said once the macaroni was taken care of.

“Good idea.”

Dr. Coomer returned to living in his own dorm after that, but Bubby could see him still struggling clear as day whenever they saw each other. Bubby knew the signs well, based on the years of friendship and personal experience; Bubby had gone through his own extreme burst of depression in the past, back when he was still living in the biological research department. Refusing to participate in anything willingly, burrowing himself under the blankets in his bed at any and all opportunities, even refusing to eat properly (ultimately, he had that to thank for the suggestion he should start working in the upper levels as “enrichment”). Dr. Coomer showed very clear signs of not taking care of himself, so Bubby took it upon himself to help him. He cooked for him, helped coax him out of bed in the morning, and tried his best to encourage him to keep up with his hobbies—namely boxing club, considering he hoped the physical activity would help.

There was a night Bubby had been forced to head down to biological research instead, though; he eventually found his way back up in the evening to Dr. Coomer’s dorm after a series of tests, finding him curled up in his bed. Bubby sighed as he sat down on the edge of his bed.

“Did you eat?” He asked him.

Dr. Coomer nodded.

“...How are you feeling?” Bubby asked next.

Dr. Coomer was quiet for a few moments before he pushed himself up. “...Do you want to go to the roof?”

Bubby helped Dr. Coomer stand, and the two of them headed up to their usual stargazing spot on the roof. Dr. Coomer sighed once they were there, curling up on himself and looking up at the sky.

“...I think I hurt her quite badly.” Dr. Coomer said quietly. “Things were getting so strained, though, I just...I thought it would be good for her just as much as it was for me. But she reacted so poorly.”

“I mean...I’m sure she’ll get over it.” Bubby replied uncertainly.

Dr. Coomer huffed a little at that. “Well, certainly she’ll move on with her life, yes.” He said a little impatiently. “But I just...keep wondering if I made the right choice.”

Bubby shrugged, looking back up at the sky as well. “I don’t know. I just saw you weren’t happy. I think that’s reason enough.”

“I suppose...I wasn’t. But maybe things could have been better, if I had been a better husband.”

“In what way?” Bubby asked flatly.

As predicted, Dr. Coomer sighed, giving him a very quiet, “I don’t know.”

“...It wasn’t a great marriage, Coomer.” Bubby insisted. “I know I’m not an expert or anything, I’ve never been married. But I’ve seen plenty of married couples in Black Mesa, learned about relationships—”

“Through TV?” Dr. Coomer teased.

“You can’t judge me for that.” Bubby reminded him, and Dr. Coomer just nodded. “From my perspective, I think you made the right choice. I’m, uhh...sorry you’re sad about it now, though.”

Dr. Coomer laughed a little at that, resting his head on Bubby’s shoulder. “Very eloquent as always, Bubby.”

Bubby rolled his eyes. “ _Thanks._ ”

“...Thank you, though.” Dr. Coomer finally said with a quiet sigh. “I’m sorry I’ve put so much on you. You’ve been very, very good to me.”

“Pssh. Making shitty pasta for you every now and then is nothing.” Bubby said dismissively.

“Bubby, I love you, but just take the damn compliment, please.”

“...Fine. You’re welcome.”

****

Dr. Coomer and Bubby didn’t talk about the divorce for a while after that. It was mentioned every now and again when vaguely relevant—signing the paperwork, losing certain military benefits, her forgetting something in his dorm—but Dr. Coomer was resistant as always to talking about his feelings on the matter. He started to put on a persona for others of being back to his old self, but Bubby saw through it easily; he didn’t seem to be sleeping well, and he rarely went out of his way to talk to others unless he had to or was spoken to first. Bubby was at a loss for what to do; surely, Dr. Coomer just needed time to process and move on, right?

Bubby was considering this as the tram pulled into Dr. Coomer’s stop one morning. He looked to Dr. Coomer, ready to say goodbye, but he hadn’t moved; he just sat there, head resting in his palm.

Bubby nudged him with his elbow. “Dr. Coomer, your stop’s here.”

Dr. Coomer smiled at Bubby kindly. “Oh, no, I’m not going to hazardous waste today. I’ve been headhunted for a different project.”

“What? Since when?” Bubby questioned. “What project?”

“Well, I can’t tell you yet, it’s still confidential.” Dr. Coomer replied. “I’ll be getting off after your stop for a little while, though.”

“...Huh. Okay.” Bubby said uneasily as the tram began to pull away from Dr. Coomer’s department.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. It’s fine.” Bubby insisted dismissively.

Dr. Coomer continued to be cagey about his new temporary position for the following weeks. There wasn’t anything too different about his behavior, Bubby tried to rationalize to himself—at least, not until he caught him moving boxes through the dormitory hallways.

“Coomer! What are you doing?” Bubby called to him.

Dr. Coomer turned to look at him. It was the weekend, but he was wearing his uniform for some reason as he walked through the dormitory halls. He looked exhausted, an uncharacteristically heartbroken expression on his face. Bubby hurried over to him, even as he turned away from him and continued down the hall.

“Coomer, what’s going on?” Bubby asked, placing a hand on Dr. Coomer’s shoulder.

“Nothing, I’m just—I’m a little busy at the moment, Bubby.” Dr. Coomer replied, forcing a smile at him. “Could we talk some other time?”

“Oh...of course.” Bubby muttered. “...You’re not moving out of Black Mesa, are you?”

“No, no, of course not.” Dr. Coomer reassured him. “Everything will make sense a little later, okay?”

Bubby nodded. “...Okay. I’ll talk to you later, then.”

Bubby stopped following Dr. Coomer, watching him head down the hall until he was gone.

At the tram stop the next Monday, Dr. Coomer greeted Bubby the same as usual—no heartbroken expressions or uncharacteristic exhaustion.

“So what were you doing on Saturday, then?” Bubby asked him as they boarded the tram together.

“Hm?”

“You know, Saturday? When I saw you in the hallway?” Bubby reminded him.

Dr. Coomer gave him a tense smile, glancing away for a long moment without replying. Finally, he rubbed his head and laughed awkwardly as he spoke. “Uhh, I’m sorry Bubby, you may have to remind me what I was doing.”

“...You were moving some boxes. I asked what you were doing, but you said you were too busy to talk.” Bubby told him, eyeing him worriedly. “Are you feeling alright, Coomer?”

“I’m perfectly fine! Don’t worry about me, Bubby.” Dr. Coomer reassured him kindly. “I was just, uhh—moving the last of Veronica’s things out of my dorm.”

Well, that _would_ explain how cagey and distraught he’d been, but hadn’t he already taken out the last of Veronica’s things? Would he really have found a whole box worth of things to return at this point? Bubby didn’t push it, though—Dr. Coomer seemed to be growing increasingly uncomfortable, and perhaps it wasn’t weird enough on its own to warrant so much concern. They proceeded as normal instead, and the rest of the week passed without any other incident.

On one otherwise regular morning, however, Bubby was thumbing through his mail when his eyes caught on a name he knew all too well as he was scanning one of the memos. He dropped everything else and read the memo in its entirety.

_Hello, valued Black Mesa employee!_

_You may notice an influx of new teammates in the next few months as we begin a new employee initiative. Similar to a previous project currently in effect, these employees may all appear to be a single man. This is because of an exciting new development in cloning technology! As opposed to the previous initiative involving Black Mesa project Bubby, this new initiative utilizes the clones of Dr. Harold P. Coomer, who volunteered samples from which we could create the employees needed to complete work for our clients on time with less pressure. Please welcome Dr. Coomer to your teams, and be on the lookout for more volunteer positions in the future!_

Bubby dropped the memo, picking up his phone instinctively to dial the hazardous waste department. It was only as he was halfway done dialing when he remembered Dr. Coomer wouldn’t be there—so what department should he call? He wracked his brain, but eventually had to come to terms with the fact that he was just going to have to wait until the end of the day to talk to him.

When Bubby hopped on the tram at the end of the day, he immediately spotted Dr. Coomer, who greeted him with an apologetic smile when Bubby sat down beside him.

“Coomer, what the _fuck?_ ” Bubby questioned, holding up the memo for him to see. “You didn’t tell me you signed onto the cloning project! I thought you said you didn’t want to!”

“I’m sorry, I wanted to be the one to tell you. I just didn’t realize they were going to release the memo today.” Dr. Coomer said sheepishly. “I suppose I came around to the idea. I just...wanted to be helpful to the other departments.”

Bubby wasn’t sure what to say to that. He stuffed the memo back into his bag and leaned back into his chair.

“Is there something wrong?” Dr. Coomer asked.

“Huh? No.” Bubby said, crossing his arms uncomfortably.

“Are you sure?”

“I—of course, it was your decision.” Bubby replied, tone tinged with confusion—not at Dr. Coomer, but more at himself. Why _was_ he so uncomfortable if that was Dr. Coomer’s decision to make?

Bubby headed back to his dorm alone, turning down Dr. Coomer’s offer to eat dinner together. He sat at his dining table over his own hastily made dinner, contemplating his emotions carefully. He was worried for Dr. Coomer, certainly. He knew all too well Black Mesa would take advantage of employees “for science”—and Dr. Coomer was struggling after the divorce, so surely, he hadn’t been in his right mind when he made the decision. Was that unfair of him to think?

The Coomer clones didn’t speak to Bubby much. They all seemed uncomfortable with the whole concept of it; they all _remembered_ him, surely, calling him by his name and immediately growing anxious the minute Bubby approached. There was even one working in his department, now, who really went out of his way not to cross paths with him. If he was uncomfortable, then Bubby should just leave him alone—that was the logical side of him talking, though. The side that he actually listened to was the one overcome with a need to understand just what the fuck Dr. Coomer was thinking.

“Dr. Coomer!” Bubby called as the Coomer clone was entering the break room. Bubby hurried inside after him, receiving that strained smile he always got when he tried talking to him. “Can I ask you something?”

“Okay, Bubby.” The Coomer clone replied, fiddling with his tie.

“...Why do you avoid me?” Bubby asked—perhaps too accusatory, but it wasn’t like he was carefully considering his actions at the moment. “The original Coomer doesn’t, but all you clones do. You clearly seem to remember me, so why?”

The Coomer clone looked away, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I...well, it’s...a weird situation. I didn’t want it to be any weirder for you than it had to be.”

“Of course it’s going to be weird!” Bubby argued. “But it’s weirder to have a million of you _avoiding_ me all the time!”

The Coomer clone’s eyes widened at that, his shoulders drooping a little. “Oh, Bubby, I didn’t want you to feel like...I...” He looked away again, biting at his knuckle thoughtfully for a moment. “I have to admit, maybe it’s a little selfish, but...it’s weird for me in ways I’m not sure I want us to have to work through like this.”

Bubby searched his expression for a long, confused moment. “Wait, what?”

“I...by existing, I’m now dedicated to Black Mesa.” The Coomer clone explained uneasily. “The original Harold is _always_ going to be your friend. But all of us clones owe Black Mesa our lives, and—”

“You can’t leave.” Bubby interrupted, stomach dropping. “You were born here, and now you can never leave.”

The Coomer clone paused for a long time before nodding.

“Oh my god.” Bubby breathed, clutching his chest. “You just—you’re stuck here, just like me, now!”

“Bubby, it’s okay!” The Coomer clone comforted. “We’re all connected. If we pay attention, we can experience what the original Harold experiences! We’re not necessarily missing out on anything.”

Bubby crossed his arms tightly. “Does it work the other way around, too? Can he...hear us talking?”

The Coomer clone nodded hesitantly. “He _can._ I’m not sure if he’s listening, but he can.”

“Ohhh, god.” Bubby practically wheezed. His chest was starting to feel tight as he stood there. He reached blindly for a chair, pulling one up and sitting down in it clumsily as his head began to spin.

“Are you alright?” The Coomer clone asked, kneeling down beside his chair. “I can see how this might be overwhelming. That’s...sort of why I was avoiding you so much.”

“I don’t want you to be trapped here like me!” Bubby blurted out. “There’s so many of you, and all of you are going to be stuck here forever! That’s fucking miserable!”

“It doesn’t have to be bad!” The Coomer clone said reassuringly. “Trust me, Bubby, I thought about it and decided I was alright with this. I wanted to be useful, and this is something that allows me to be useful to hundreds of people at once!”

Bubby gripped the Coomer clone’s shoulders tightly, looking him dead in the eye. “Coomer, I don’t think you thought this through at all. You don’t know how _fucking suffocating_ it is to live like this.”

The Coomer clone frowned deeply, looking down at the tile below them.

“You know I—I...care about you,” Bubby went on falteringly, “and I know you’ve been having a hard time after the divorce, but this is...this is horrible. I’m honestly pretty fucking disappointed you didn’t think harder about this.”

“I’m sorry, Bubby. Maybe you’re right.” The Coomer clone said, pulling away shamefully. “If it ever gets to be too much, though, I can always go back—if I die, my consciousness returns to the original. I could potentially return to normal, as long as all us clones are terminated.”

“Oh, well _that’s_ comforting.” Bubby said sarcastically.

The Coomer clone laughed uneasily. “Okay, maybe that doesn’t sound so good. But...well, I don’t want _this_ to be how you see me, is what I was trying to say. I was hoping you could...only talk to the original from now on.”

Bubby crossed his arms again, staring down into his lap. “I don’t know how I feel about that.”

“It’s going to be okay, Bubby.” The Coomer clone insisted, standing up. “It was strange for me as well when they did this with your prototypes, but I just had to adjust how I thought about them. I hope you can do the same for me.”

That comparison felt like a punch to the gut—of course it wasn’t the same, the prototypes didn’t share Bubby’s memories or consciousness, not to mention they had absolutely no say in the matter—but he let it go and simply nodded. “...Okay. If that’s what you want.”

The Coomer clone smiled at him. “Thanks, Bubby.”

Dr. Coomer left Bubby alone in the break room. Bubby let out a deep sigh, burying his face in his hands and collecting himself for a moment before standing and heading back to his office.

****

Bubby returned to department hopping frequently, whenever he got bored of his current workload. His greatest interest _was_ in anomalous materials, but sometimes things would slow down a bit or become monotonous, so he’d go to other departments that needed his help and offer his services. A few years after Dr. Coomer had volunteered for the cloning project, one such lab was the gamma lab.

The gamma lab was a very interesting place to work, but rarely ever called upon him for help. Bubby found himself excited there was an opportunity to finally pop in again and see what they were doing. As he walked in that morning, he scanned over all the other scientists currently working, finding, strangely, only one Coomer clone, and no prototypes.

“Good morning, Dr. Coomer.” Bubby greeted the clone as he was currently setting his bag down. The clone looked up at him with wide eyes.

“O-oh. Bubby.” He said cautiously. “...You’re working here today?”

Bubby nodded, setting his bag down as well. “I heard this lab needed some help, and things have been pretty slow in anomalous materials. So...”

The clone nodded as well, turning away and brushing his hair out of his face. Bubby was adjusting to the fact that the clones seemed to be growing more and more different from Dr. Coomer, these days; this one was a good example of that. He went entirely quiet, his expression stern as he nodded for Bubby to follow him and took him to where his help would be needed. Once the clone explained everything to him, he swiftly left him alone to work—no pleasantries or anything else. Bubby silently got to work, trying to ignore the uncomfortable feeling in his stomach.

Bubby worked with everyone else throughout the day, the clone seemingly deliberately avoiding him. Bubby was ready to pack up and head back to his dorm without another word to him, intent to respect his apparent boundary, but he felt a firm hand on his shoulder as he was turning to leave.

“Bubby?” The clone asked.

Bubby turned back to him. “Yes?”

“Would you mind walking with me?”

Bubby looked at the clone carefully. He had a strange look in his eyes; Bubby honestly couldn’t place what must have been going on in his head, but he nodded all the same.

“Of course.” He replied.

The two of them walked back to the tram together, the clone in absolute silence the whole way. Bubby wasn’t sure what sort of conversation to make, anyway—he didn’t seem to be in a talkative mood. As they got off at the stop for the dormitories, he took in a deep breath, fixing his posture a little and giving Bubby a smile.

“Why don’t we go outside?” He suggested as he unclipped his work badge from his lab coat, tucking it away into his back pocket.

“Oh, uh—sure. _Can_ you, though? Don’t they check your badge to see if you’re a clone or not?” Bubby asked him.

The clone waved his hand dismissively. “Oh, they’ll never know the difference. We’re clones! We look the same.”

Bubby nodded as they walked leisurely towards the lobby. As they arrived, the clone began walking a little quicker; Bubby almost had to jog to keep up.

“Good evening!” The clone said politely to the guard.

“Hey, Dr. Coomer.” The usual guard replied, standing up. “Can I see your badge, please?”

The clone paused, patting his chest where his badge had been moments before. “Oh! I must have forgotten it at my desk. Well, you know it’s me, don’t you?”

The guard looked at him curiously. “I have to check, Dr. Coomer. You know that. Can’t let you out unless you show your badge.”

“Well, Bubby can vouch for me.” The clone insisted, looking to Bubby expectantly.

“Oh, yeah, this is the original. I’d know.” Bubby lied.

The guard paused for a long, contemplative moment before slowly nodding. “...Yeah, alright. I trust you guys. Go on ahead.”

“Wait!”

Bubby turned around in surprise as another Coomer appeared in the lobby, breathing hard as he hurried up towards them. He fumbled for his badge on his lab coat, holding it up to the guard for him to see.

“It’s me.” Dr. Coomer announced breathlessly, putting a hand on Bubby’s shoulder and squeezing it.

“Hey!” The clone exclaimed, turning to Dr. Coomer and giving him a furious look. “We were almost outside!”

“You know you can’t do that!” Dr. Coomer argued. “Using _Bubby_ to try and get out? I can’t believe you!”

“I can’t believe _you!_ ” The clone retorted, shoving Dr. Coomer back. Bubby watched in shock, too conflicted to figure out what action to take. “What harm could it have done to you if I got out?”

“You’re still _me!_ I’d still be held liable if you escaped!” Dr. Coomer insisted. “And you never even consulted Bubby on your plan! That’s so cruel!”

Bubby watched the guard as he picked up his radio, making an announcement about an escape attempt. As the two Coomers argued, three other guards quickly approached in the lobby, and after a brief moment of confusion, two of them took hold of the clone.

“Stop! _No!_ ” The clone shouted aggressively, struggling against the guards. He was strong, but not Dr. Coomer strong—he was rendered helpless against the guards without cybernetic enhancements.

“Hey, wait!” Bubby exclaimed, reaching out towards one of the guards to stop them. He felt Dr. Coomer’s arms around him, though, holding him back from helping the clone. Bubby turned back to Dr. Coomer as his chest began to ache. “Coomer, what the fuck?”

“I-it’s better this way. I’m sorry.” Dr. Coomer said, drawing him back a few steps.

“How?!” Bubby demanded, looking back to the clone as he was dragged kicking and screaming out of the lobby. Bubby struggled to breathe as he watched, Dr. Coomer’s arms around him beginning to feel much less comforting and more restrictive in a way that sent a panic through him. He forced himself out of Dr. Coomer’s arms, clutching his chest as his legs gave out from under him.

“Bubby, he was going to try and take you out of Black Mesa for good. Without even _asking_ you.” Dr. Coomer said, kneeling down beside him. “He didn’t even have a plan! I’m _really_ sorry you had to see that. I’m so, so sorry. But it’s...it’s what I had to do.”

Bubby had to take a long few minutes to compose himself. He remembered the sharp jab of a syringe in his arm, the locked doors of the biological research department, and the judgmental stares of scientists who didn’t care to help him as he felt panicked and restricted. That clone was going to face all of that, surely; everything that made Bubby’s life a living hell, _he_ was going to have to experience himself. Finally, once he could breathe again, he wiped his eyes underneath his glasses and looked up at Dr. Coomer.

“I-it didn’t have to be like that.” Bubby said shakily.

Dr. Coomer nodded. “Trust me, Bubby, I understand. I feel what he feels. It’s...it’s painful. But the repercussions could have been much worse, if I had let him walk out with you.”

“What’s going to happen with him?” Bubby asked, finally accepting Dr. Coomer’s help to stand.

“He’s...going to be held in the lab for a little while.” Dr. Coomer admitted, helping Bubby walk shakily back towards his dorm. “I’m sorry, Bubby. I know it must be difficult for you to have seen that.”

Bubby let Dr. Coomer take him back to his dorm, and they sat down together on Dr. Coomer’s couch. Once they were sitting, Bubby pulled away from Dr. Coomer’s touch.

“I-it’s...not okay like this.” Bubby said definitively. “You can’t just let things go on like this for the clones.”

Dr. Coomer frowned as he kept his distance. “They’re all still _me,_ Bubby. I understand what they’re going through. Ultimately, they can always still make the decision to return to me! I’m not quite sure why that clone in particular thought he had to escape, rather than just voluntarily returning to me, but it was a rash decision. It’s still well within my control, otherwise.”

Bubby shivered and shook his head. “I-I don’t think that’s true.”

Dr. Coomer didn’t reply to that. They just sat there in silence for a few minutes before Bubby let out a deep sigh.

“...I’m sorry.” He muttered. “I guess you’re right, in the fact that it could have been worse, if he’d gone through with an escape attempt.”

Dr. Coomer nodded slowly. “I’m very sorry it happened that way. I never wanted you to have to see anything like that.”

Bubby just shrugged. “...Nothing to do about it now, I guess.”

“Truth be told, I’d sort of been hoping you wouldn’t come in contact with him.” Dr. Coomer admitted, brushing his fingers through his hair. “I’m not sure _what_ happened with him, but he’s...not very... _me._ I’m not certain why.”

“He just seemed...frustrated.” Bubby said sympathetically, leaning back on the couch.

Dr. Coomer nodded, as if he thought Bubby had said that to agree with him. Bubby decided to drop it, not having the energy to push it further, anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dr coomer i think you might have some sort of disease (also that clone is buildup to the next fic. if u know u know!)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is literally the only chapter that remains like Relatively untouched from the original lmao

For how horrible the clone thing was, as a few more years rolled by after that event, Bubby saw less and less concerning behavior from Dr. Coomer. Bubby didn’t think he’d ever be the same as before everything that had happened, and he would never expect him to bounce back that way, but he slowly returned to similar rambunctious, chaotic behavior Bubby had grown to love seeing out of him. This was particularly put into practice when Dr. Coomer suggested something Bubby had thought would never come up again.

“Bubby...would you trust me to try and take you somewhere on the surface again?” Dr. Coomer asked. “Only temporarily.”

“...For what?”

“Well, there’s an event happening on the surface nearby that I think you might enjoy attending, if you’d...be comfortable with it.” Dr. Coomer suggested, twirling pasta around his fork.

“An event?” Bubby echoed. “What event?”

“I’d like to keep that part a surprise, at least!” Dr. Coomer said coyly before his tone turned more serious. “Bubby, I know you...struggle with the idea of leaving Black Mesa. But I’ve thought a lot about what it must be like, especially after what’s happened with my clones. I...don’t feel like I’ve done enough for you. I would like to show you the surface.”

Bubby bit his lip thoughtfully. On one hand, the memory of being out in the middle of the desert made his stomach churn as he thought about it; on the other hand, some other part of him that screamed for even just one night of freedom was leaping at the idea of leaving—particularly for an “event” Dr. Coomer assessed he would like. He trusted Dr. Coomer’s judgment, after all. He trusted Dr. Coomer with his life.

Taking a deep breath, Bubby nodded. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Dr. Coomer repeated excitedly with a grin.

“Fine, fine, I’ll go.” Bubby confirmed, trying to sound more irritated by the idea. “But I reserve the right to change my mind.”

“Of course!” Dr. Coomer nodded, dropping his fork to reach across the table and place his hand on Bubby’s. “Please trust me, though, it’s going to be a wonderful night!”

“So when is this...event?”

“It’s this Saturday! I had to go through quite some trouble to get us tickets at this point, but it’s going to be worth it!” Dr. Coomer prattled, practically bouncing in his chair.

“Tickets?”

Dr. Coomer put a hand to his mouth. “Oop! I don’t want to spoil it!”

Bubby chuckled. “Alright, how long will we be gone?”

“Well, we would need to be out of here fairly early Saturday morning, then we’d be staying in a hotel overnight after the event and driving back Sunday morning.” Dr. Coomer explained. “If you’re comfortable with that, of course.”

A hotel. Bubby drummed his fingers on the table thoughtfully—on TV, they ranged from looking luxurious to miserable and filthy. Surely, Dr. Coomer wouldn’t want to take Bubby somewhere miserable for potentially his only night on the surface, right? He nodded slowly. “Uhh, yeah, sure.”

The week dragged by agonizingly slow as Bubby waited for the weekend. On Friday, he stood over the empty suitcase Dr. Coomer had given him, wondering exactly what was appropriate to pack, or how much. He threw in pajamas and a change of clothes for the next day, but the suitcase was so empty, he wondered if there was something else people normally packed for an overnight stay. He ended up throwing in a bunch more things that _might_ be useful until he couldn’t fit anything else in, then set it by the door and settled down to watch TV until the time Dr. Coomer had told him to be up by—his heart was racing so much with anticipation, he knew he wasn’t going to get a wink of sleep, so why bother?

Dr. Coomer was right on time knocking on his door to take him up to his car in the parking garage. Bubby swallowed hard, looking around them in fits of paranoia as they walked briskly down the hallways together. In the parking garage, Dr. Coomer tossed their bags into the trunk and nodded to the passenger seat.

“Get in, I think the guard is coming back.” Dr. Coomer said urgently.

“How do you know?” Bubby asked, climbing in clumsily and closing the door behind him.

“My clones have been distracting him for a few minutes.” Dr. Coomer explained with a mischievous smile. “I think he caught on, though. We’d better get going.”

Bubby pulled his seatbelt on as Dr. Coomer started up the car, tires squealing as he backed up hastily and floored it out of the parking garage. Bubby gripped his seatbelt tightly in his hands as they left the safety of the enclosed garage, sending them out into nothing but open air. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying desperately not to demand to turn around. He wasn’t going to chicken out this time. He _wanted_ to leave.

“Are you doing alright, Bubby?” Dr. Coomer asked gently.

Bubby slowly opened his eyes, turning to Dr. Coomer. He was mostly focused on the road, but he cast him a worried glance.

“Y-yeah. Just keep going.” Bubby managed to say.

“Here, open the glove compartment, I have some music in there that might take your mind off things.” Dr. Coomer suggested.

“The...what?”

Dr. Coomer pointed helpfully at the compartment in front of Bubby’s knees. He opened it, finding a mess of tapes inside. Searching through them certainly did distract him enough to calm down a little bit—and his eyes lit up as he found the name of a band he greatly enjoyed.

“Oh, you have Mötley Crüe!” He said with a grin. He immediately slid the tape into the player as Dr. Coomer laughed.

“I was worried you might find that one.” Dr. Coomer said playfully.

“Shut up, they’re great!” Bubby huffed as the music began blaring over the speakers.

Dr. Coomer had been right; the music was immensely helpful. As Bubby sang along to one of his favorite songs, he was finally capable of just watching the desert roll past them. Black Mesa was so far behind them, now, Bubby couldn’t even see it when he turned around. It felt so strange—a little terrifying at first, but when he turned back to Dr. Coomer, staring attentively out the window as he drove them further and further away, he decided there was nowhere else he’d rather be but here beside Dr. Coomer.

The drive took a long time. How did people just sit there in a car for hours and not go completely nuts? He was incredibly stir crazy by the time they even reached a town to make a pit stop in. Dr. Coomer pulled into a gas station, urging Bubby to follow him into the store.

“I-I don’t know.” Bubby said uneasily.

“Don’t you want to choose some snacks?” Dr. Coomer said enticingly. “Come on, it’ll be good exposure before the event tonight!”

Bubby paused for a moment before he undid his seatbelt and stepped out of the car. It had been one thing to drive outside of Black Mesa, but standing somewhere entirely new was another. The sun was up, now, immediately bringing a sweat to Bubby’s brow as he took in the fresh air. Dr. Coomer circled around the car to stand by Bubby’s side, taking his hand gently in his own.

“You ready?” Dr. Coomer asked.

Bubby nodded. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

Bubby followed Dr. Coomer into the gas station, where he slowly investigated each aisle carefully before selecting his snacks. He eyed the counter after that, the cashier’s back turned as they seemed to be organizing something behind the register. Bubby had brought one of his prepaid cards he got from the biological research department’s budget, but could they track his purchases with the card? Sweating nervously, Bubby made an impulsive decision. He sprinted out of the store and back to the car, climbing back in and slamming the door shut.

Dr. Coomer appeared in the gas station doorway a couple minutes later with a lidded paper cup and a bag of chips, locking eyes with Bubby. As he opened the door on the driver’s side, he gave him a confused look.

“Bubby, why’d you leave?” He asked. “I was going to rejoin you after I got my coffee.”

“Well, I was done, I wasn’t gonna sit there and wait for you.” Bubby replied evasively.

“...Did you even pay for those?”

Bubby looked down at the bag of chips and bottle of soda in his lap. “...No.”

Dr. Coomer burst into laughter. “I was going to buy them for you!”

Bubby couldn’t help but laugh as well, now. “Well, now you don’t have to.”

Dr. Coomer quickly started up the car, backing out and getting back on the road. The rest of the drive was just as agonizingly long, but eventually, Dr. Coomer parked in a massive parking lot in front of an incredibly tall building. Bubby had seen how tall buildings could be on TV, obviously, but it wasn’t quite like Bubby had expected to be standing right at the base of one. Dr. Coomer collected their bags from the trunk, taking Bubby’s free hand to lead him inside. So it was a hotel, Bubby realized, watching people roam in and out of the lobby with their own luggage. Dr. Coomer checked them in, handing Bubby one of the keycards.

“There’s so many people.” Bubby muttered to him as they headed to the elevators.

“There’s a lot of people in Black Mesa as well.” Dr. Coomer pointed out. “It’s not so different! They’re just not your coworkers this time.”

Maybe that sounded just fine to Dr. Coomer, but it was a strange adjustment to Bubby. They piled into an elevator with a family, silent as the children stood beside them chattered to their two mothers. They were so _small._ Of course they were small, they were children, but holy shit, Bubby thought.

Dr. Coomer and Bubby stepped off the elevator on one of the upper levels, quickly finding their room. Dr. Coomer struggled with unlocking it—he said something about there alway being a trick to the timing when you took your keycard out—before he pushed the door open. There was a short hallway consisting of a closet on one side and a bathroom on the other before it opened up in the main part of the room. It was small, so it was impossible for Bubby to be mistaken: there was a desk, a TV, a little minifridge and microwave, and one large bed.

“O-oh, I thought—I told the clerk I needed a room for two.” Dr. Coomer said quickly as they entered the room. “I _thought_ the room was strangely cheap.”

“Huh.” Bubby glanced down at his and Dr. Coomer’s hands clasped together. “Maybe she assumed we...”

Dr. Coomer looked down at their hands as well before pulling away to twirl his hair between his fingers with an embarrassed laugh. “Oh. Right. I-I was...I didn’t want to lose track of you.”

Bubby only shrugged and crossed his arms.

“I can go back down and ask for another room with two beds.” Dr. Coomer offered.

“I mean, you said this was cheaper.” Bubby pointed out, looking away nervously. “There’s no reason to go and make this more expensive than it has to be.”

“Well, I already budgeted this trip! It’s really no trouble.”

“I don’t care.” Bubby insisted, hoping his face wasn’t growing too red. “I mean, I can sleep on the floor, or...you know. I—we’ve been friends for decades, it’s not a big deal.”

Dr. Coomer snorted. “If you don’t mind, I don’t mind.”

They left their bags behind in the hotel, Dr. Coomer dragging Bubby back outside to see the sights of the city before “the event.” He took Bubby to a restaurant, which offered food so much better than Bubby had ever gotten from Black Mesa or his own cooking. After that, they milled in and out of stores—it was so strange, seeing such a high concentration of things they could just buy and immediately have mixed in with so many people he’d never seen before in his life and would likely never see again. They were in a clothing store when Dr. Coomer held something up enthusiastically for Bubby to look at.

“A jacket?” He asked flatly.

“I think you’d look nice in it!” Dr. Coomer told him, taking it off the hanger and holding it out to Bubby. “If you wear this, you’ll fit right in at the co—I mean, the event.”

“Do I _have_ to fit in?” Bubby asked anxiously. It was a leather jacket with metal studs on the shoulders—he _did_ like it.

“Well, no, but I think it would be fun.”

Bubby slipped the jacket on over his plain white t-shirt and turned towards one of the mirrors conveniently set out nearby. “Huh.” He said quietly. He didn’t have a whole lot of clothes that could be considered fashionable—he didn’t ever have a need for it, after all—but if he was going to have _one_ nice thing (besides the suit he’d probably never wear again after Dr. Coomer’s wedding), maybe he’d allow it to be this.

“That looks great on you!” Dr. Coomer complimented enthusiastically, taking Bubby’s upper arms from behind him and staring into their reflection. “That settles it! I’m getting it for you.”

“What?” Bubby questioned. “No, I don’t need it. You’re already paying for the hotel and literally everything else.”

“Well, I’ve already saved a bit on the room, not to mention a little after you stole those snacks from the gas station. I’d say it’s going to even out!” Dr. Coomer said, slipping the jacket off of Bubby and leading him to the counter.

By the time Dr. Coomer had purchased the jacket and they stepped back outside, it was already starting to get late. Dr. Coomer glanced down at his watch, making a hurried announcement that they should get going to make it to the event. To Bubby’s surprise, they took a taxi to some massive venue—Dr. Coomer explaining along the way that he _definitely_ wasn’t going to be fit to drive back with a conspiratorial wink—and followed along a long line looping around the building until they finally reached the end. Bubby investigated the other people lined up as they walked, spotting a strangely high amount of Mötley Crüe merchandise. As other people began to line up behind them as well, Bubby turned to Dr. Coomer.

“Is this...a Mötley Crüe concert?” Bubby asked him.

“Awww!!” Dr. Coomer whined. “We got so close! I was hoping you wouldn’t find out until they walked out on stage.”

“But you gave me so much shit for liking them on the way here!”

“Well, I didn’t want to give it away!” Dr. Coomer said with a laugh.

Bubby snorted, squeezing Dr. Coomer’s hand in his own. “This is...pretty cool. Thanks, Coomer.”

“You don’t _have_ to call me Coomer.” Dr. Coomer said suddenly. “We’re not in Black Mesa. You can call me Harold, if you’d like.”

“Okay... _Harold._ ” Bubby replied. He held it together for only a second before he couldn’t resist bursting out laughing.

“What?”

“Sorry, it’s just weird calling you that after all these years.” Bubby said, trying to stop laughing.

Dr. Coomer chuckled, punching Bubby hard in the arm playfully. “Oh, it can’t be _that_ weird.”

Bubby punched him back, which sparked a brief playful fight before some random security guard stopped them. Bubby had half a mind to set him on fire, but Dr. Coomer squeezed his arm, as if he could already tell Bubby was considering it. Eventually, they got up to the front of the line and finally headed inside, where Dr. Coomer quickly took him to another line. Everyone there was waiting to get into a section of the massive open room that had been roped off for some reason, each handing a man stood at the end of it a card before heading inside.

“What is this?” Bubby asked Dr. Coomer.

“Oh, this is the bar section. We can order drinks here, as long as we stay in this section.” Dr. Coomer explained to him.

So the man was checking IDs, then, Bubby thought. Bubby technically had his Black Mesa issued passport, but his had a disclaimer on it that rendered it useless outside of Black Mesa, so he didn’t even bother bringing it. By the time they reached the front of the line, the bouncer looked them over.

“Can I see ID?” He asked.

“Oh, right...” Dr. Coomer muttered, pulling out his wallet and casting a worried glance at Bubby. He handed the man his ID, and he only glanced at it before handing it back and looking to Bubby.

“I, uh, forgot mine.” Bubby lied.

“Sorry, man, can’t let you in.”

“Look at me!” Bubby snapped, indicating up to his head. “I’m balding _and_ graying. You think I’m a teenager? Just let me the fuck in.”

The man put his hands up defensively. “Alright, dude, Jesus. Go on in.” He lifted the rope for Bubby and Coomer to enter as Dr. Coomer shot Bubby an amused smile.

The two of them ordered their drinks, standing fairly close to the stage as they waited for the show to start. To Bubby’s deep disappointment, there was some sort of pre-show, a band he’d never heard of before playing a few mediocre songs before there was another wait for the real show to start. By the time the band actually stepped out on stage, Bubby was getting a little more than tipsy, and let out a loud, enthusiastic yell with the rest of the crowd. To his excitement, they announced that they would not just be playing some of their popular songs, but also debuting a few new, never-before-heard songs off their new album.

It was the greatest night Bubby ever had. Just screaming along to the songs he knew, fully enjoying the songs he didn’t, standing hand in hand with his closest friend of well over 20 years now—he never would have gotten any of this if he had chickened out. Was this the life he had been missing out on? Eating genuinely good food, just wandering around aimlessly, going to concerts with the people he loved? As they played one of his favorites, Bubby began to tear up against his will. He reached drunkenly for Dr. Coomer, pulling him in close to his side as he wiped at his face. Dr. Coomer said something to him, but Bubby couldn’t hear over the music.

“What?” Bubby called.

Dr. Coomer leaned in close to Bubby’s ear and shouted, “are you okay?”

Bubby nodded. “Thank you, Harold.”

Dr. Coomer smiled, looping an arm around Bubby’s waist. “Of course!”

Bubby got over his sudden burst of emotion just in time for them to play a new song. It started out with a wailing guitar solo that Bubby immediately fell in love with, the chorus following not long after— _he’s the one they call Dr. Feelgood, he’s the one that makes you feel alright_ —and Bubby looked back down at Dr. Coomer with a wide, unreserved smile. Dr. Coomer had already been looking at him, face flushed from the alcohol. He looked so different from when Bubby had first met him; his hair was much grayer, now, but retained a lot more of its color at this point than Bubby’s had. He was starting to get wrinkles along his face as well—Bubby hadn’t even noticed until just now. His face felt warm as he stared at him for a long moment, the song almost fading away entirely as his whole focus went into Dr. Coomer. Dr. Coomer stared back with a content, proud smile, a smile that filled Bubby with so much adoration, it made it blatantly clear to him there was only one thing he wanted above everything else Dr. Coomer could have done for him.

Bubby placed his hands on each side of Dr. Coomer’s face. He opened his mouth to ask if he could kiss him, but Dr. Coomer moved first, wrapping one arm around Bubby’s lower back and placing the other against the back of Bubby’s neck. They were quick to close the gap between them, practically smashing their lips together, but Bubby savored every second of it before they finally pulled away, only just enough to look at each other again. After a moment, they both began laughing gently, inaudible over the music—just a relatively private moment between them as they pressed their foreheads together. They stayed like that for a long time, reveling in the moment for as long as possible until the next song grabbed at their attention.

Eventually, the concert ended, and Bubby and Dr. Coomer wandered outside hand in hand to wait for a taxi. It took a long time to get one, but Bubby didn’t mind just standing outside with Dr. Coomer in a comfortable silence. They didn’t talk the whole way back to the hotel—Bubby’s throat was raw after so much screaming, and Dr. Coomer was probably just exhausted—and once they were back at the hotel, it took every ounce of Bubby’s remaining energy to actually change into his pajamas before collapsing into the large bed beside Dr. Coomer. He laid just on the edge of it, trying to give Dr. Coomer as much space as he could before he felt his hand tugging gently on his sleeve.

“You don’t have to sleep like that.” Dr. Coomer told him with an amused smile. “There’s plenty of room.”

Bubby turned over on his side to face Dr. Coomer, shuffling in a little closer. Dr. Coomer did the same, slowly placing his hand over Bubby’s. Bubby stared down at their hands, then looked up into Dr. Coomer’s eyes before shuffling in even closer, draping his arm over him and burying his face into Dr. Coomer’s chest. Dr. Coomer chuckled quietly, wrapping his arms around him and letting out a quiet sigh of contentment.

“Thank you so much for this.” Bubby murmured into Dr. Coomer’s shirt.

“Of course, Bubby.” Dr. Coomer replied, planting a kiss on the top of his head. “Anything for you.”

****

Bubby and Dr. Coomer stayed in the hotel most of the next day, despite Dr. Coomer’s promise that they were going home that morning. They stayed in out of necessity, both struggling with hangovers from the night before. It was most certainly miserable, but Bubby still couldn’t help but savor each moment he had with Dr. Coomer in the world outside Black Mesa. As they laid together on the bed, barely paying any attention to the channel on TV Bubby had picked out, he heavily contemplated simply telling Dr. Coomer he wasn’t going back. Why should he? He was already out, so what reason would he have to ever return?

“Bubby?”

“Hm?”

“I don’t...” Dr. Coomer paused, shuffling closer to him. “I’m sorry, if this is pushing any boundaries. But...I don’t _have_ to take you back.”

Bubby sighed. “...No. I should go back.”

“Are you sure?”

Bubby nodded. “...Black Mesa will find me, Harold. It’s...best we just go back. The consequences of getting caught wouldn’t be worth it.”

Dr. Coomer nodded as well.

“Everything I’ve said before about escaping is still true.” Bubby reminded him. “As far as the entire world is concerned, I don’t even exist. I probably couldn’t get a job or a house, so...this is for the best.”

“...I could—”

“Harold, it’s okay.” Bubby interrupted. “I...don’t want to talk about it. Let’s just go back.”

Eventually, when Dr. Coomer felt recovered enough, the two of them got on the road. Bubby struggled a bit with his lingering nausea, miserably munching on saltines Dr. Coomer had gotten for him as they listened to the Mötley Crüe album Dr. Coomer already had in his car. There were a million thoughts running through Bubby’s head, now—particularly as he thought about their kiss last night. His heart soared when he remembered it, but now as they were approaching Black Mesa again, he wondered if it had been the right thing for him to do. Even after over 20 years, Black Mesa was still too much of an issue; if Dr. Coomer had the choice to leave, Bubby wouldn’t want to take that away from him by getting too emotionally involved.

Then again, they were already so emotionally involved at this point, he wasn’t sure Dr. Coomer would ever just get up and leave even if they simply stayed friends.

Bubby shook his head to himself. No, he couldn’t even be considering this. Even if they decided to get together despite it all, what would happen when Dr. Coomer had to retire? Or if he suddenly got fired, for that matter? It wasn’t just about Bubby’s guilt—there was still so much to consider, so much keeping them at arm’s length. Bubby let out a deep sigh as they pulled into the parking garage, turning to Dr. Coomer.

“Umm...can I talk to you about something?” Bubby asked as Dr. Coomer undid his seatbelt.

“Oh, of course! Let’s just get back to the dorms, the guards won’t be distracted long.”

Bubby and Dr. Coomer headed down to the dormitories briskly, breathing a sigh of relief once they were inside the safety of Dr. Coomer’s dorm. He set his suitcase aside, pulling up one of the dining room chairs and inviting Bubby to sit as well.

“I...first off, that was the best night of my entire life.” Bubby began, giving him a small, genuine smile. “I’m really glad I went. I don’t know how I could ever thank you.”

“There’s no need!” Dr. Coomer replied with a grin. “I love you. That’s reason enough for me to do something nice for you.”

Bubby’s chest ached a little at that. Dr. Coomer was always affectionate, always reminding Bubby he loved him, whether romantically or not—those three words were by no means unfamiliar to Bubby. It was hearing those words again after their shared kiss, though, that made that aching, longing feeling return with a vengeance. He wanted, more than anything, to just say “fuck Black Mesa, fuck everything”, and kiss him again. The comfort he’d settled into of knowing they couldn’t be together was gone; it was just painful again, he thought, as he stared at Dr. Coomer. He was so kind, so fun, and so, so beautiful; the day they would be forced to separate was going to destroy Bubby.

Dr. Coomer noticed Bubby’s silence, his smile falling a little as he reached across the table to take Bubby’s hand. “Are you alright, Bubby?”

“I may have...uh, been too... _impulsive._ ” Bubby continued awkwardly. “I mean—I _wanted_ to kiss you. And I don’t necessarily regret it. It’s just...well, I wanted to be sure you know that I still don’t think us being together is a good idea, since I’m—you know, I can’t leave officially.”

Dr. Coomer leaned back in his seat, nodding slowly and looking away. “Right. Yes, that...that makes sense. I-I hope I didn’t give the impression I was expecting otherwise.”

“No, no, I just...” Bubby shook his head with a small sigh. “I wanted to be sure we were on the same page, is all. I-I didn’t really know what I wanted for a minute there.”

A long, awkward pause settled over them before Bubby found it in himself to speak again.

“...I’m sorry.” He said quietly.

“You don’t have to apologize. I think you’re right. It’s just...” Dr. Coomer glanced up at Bubby, looking ready to say something before he shook his head and stared back down at his lap. “Well, that’s not important. I’m...happy that at the very least, I can be your friend.”

Bubby nodded as well. “Yeah. Me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i said it before and i'll say it again: oh my god there was only one bed


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter in particular contains a Lot of buildup to the next part in the series...so if ur new here and see beginnings of plot threads that don't get resolved, they're there for the next part!

The years wore on after that wonderful night with Dr. Coomer. They had more like it, whenever opportunities arose; they were more and more frequently sneaking out to the closest town to enjoy long evenings together in open air, Bubby becoming more acquainted to life outside of Black Mesa incrementally, and basking in each other’s presence away from the stresses of the facility. It wasn’t _freedom,_ but it was something that made life a little more bearable. Bubby felt a little more at peace with his existence.

He was walking with one of the prototypes towards the cafeteria one afternoon; not for the company, they just tended to have lunch at the same time. He and the prototype hardly spoke, beyond the requirements of work—Bubby didn’t enjoy talking to them. It was too weird; they were too much like him in ways he despised, and yet so different from him, it always shocked him. The prototypes seemed to feel the same way towards Bubby and each other—there was never any need to break down that barrier between them.

As Bubby stood in line behind him, he was thinking about their current sample they were studying in anomalous materials as one of the Coomer clones approached the prototype. Bubby, as much as it made his stomach churn, had already gotten at least somewhat used to seeing the clones befriend prototypes. The clones seemed to deliberately seek them out, even; after months of these two getting closer, the clone hardly even paid Bubby himself any mind, anymore. He couldn’t help how strange that felt to him, though he knew this wasn’t technically his business, anymore.

Bubby’s eyes widened, though, as he watched the two smile at each other, and the clone leaned in for a kiss with the prototype. It was just a quick, casual one, but they looked so...comfortable. At peace with each other, in a way that Bubby just _wasn’t_ with Dr. Coomer. He loved him—Dr. Coomer was his closest friend, the man he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, but there was a sort of imbalance between them that kept them apart. Dr. Coomer’s freedom to come and go from the facility as he pleased and his status as an official employee of Black Mesa inherently put him just out of Bubby’s reach. They stayed apart out of _necessity,_ out of respect for Bubby’s containment in the facility.

These two, though, were on equal ground. Both confined to the facility, both considered more experiments than employees; they had a sort of solidarity with one another that Bubby was never going to have with Dr. Coomer. Bubby’s stomach twisted as he left the line, rushing back to the lab to push these thoughts out of his head by working instead.

There wasn’t nearly enough to do that day that allowed him to truly push the image out of his mind, though. What made the prototypes more deserving? Bubby wondered to himself spitefully. What sort of strange dynamic would it add if Bubby ended up dating one of the clones, though? They seemed so intent to push him away, making space for only the original Dr. Coomer. Bubby supposed he couldn’t blame them for that, when he tried to see it from Dr. Coomer’s perspective— _he_ certainly wouldn’t want the prototypes adding any sort of weird level to their relationship. But was it fair for Dr. Coomer to make that decision on his behalf?

Bubby was getting dangerously close to spiraling over this before he heard his name from the entrance of the lab.

“Bubby?”

Bubby looked up from his work, finding a man he’d seen more times than he could count, now, but never once spoken to. He always assumed he was some high-up executive or something; he always walked around wearing a suit, talking to supervisors in each department. Bubby adjusted his glasses on his face and put down his tools, watching as the man approached him.

“Yes?” Bubby asked.

“I have—noted, your expertise in...many, departments, over the years, and believe you may be...the most qualified, to address a question I have.” He replied, adjusting his tie before setting down his briefcase, pulling out a thin packet. “I have...an interest, in receiving a very...particular, _living_ sample from Xen. It is...a rather _large_ sample, though. Would you—take a look, at these parameters, and tell me if...this is achievable?”

Bubby accepted the packet, looking over a report someone must have given him. “Whoa.” Bubby breathed. “This thing is _massive._ You said it’s a living sample?”

The man gave Bubby a curt nod.

“I mean—it would take ages to save the resources needed to teleport this thing.” Bubby said carefully. “What the hell do you even want this for, anyway? What is it? I never heard any reports back about life _this_ big on Xen.”

“That is...not for you to, concern yourself over.” The man told him coolly. “I only wish to know...if it is—possible, to collect it.”

Bubby shrugged. “I can put together a theoretical plan for you. Our equipment is spotty, though. There’s sort of no telling if it’ll work with something like this. We’d just have to try and see what happens.”

“Ahh—a report on, the resources needed...would be wonderful.” The man said with a small, pleased smile. “Thank you, Bubby, for your—assistance. I will return, in a few days...for your report.”

The man closed his briefcase and turned around, leaving without another word. Bubby stared at the doorway after him, then looked back down to the report in his hands. There was no picture or anything describing whatever the man wanted, beyond size, weight, and theoretical containment needs. Strange, Bubby thought as he set the packet down on the table and pulled up a chair to start working. At least this would take his mind off the prototypes; he wasn’t thrilled by the prospect of having a meltdown over that whole situation.

Bubby wasn’t sure how that strange request ended up going, after he turned in his report on potential transport procedures. In fact, he forgot about it entirely; he never heard anything about whether it failed or succeeded, or if they even _tried_ it. He didn’t pay any mind to a day, about a year after that report, all the power went out in the facility. It was only a mild inconvenience until everything was back up, and he was able to get back to work.

****

“No, no, we can’t expect results with the parameters _you’re_ setting it to.” Bubby told the prototype in his department impatiently, swiping away the clipboard he’d been writing on. “Look at this! It’s like you’re not even _trying._ A crystal that size, with that energy output?”

“You always want to use too much energy!” His prototype argued aggressively. “We need to be more careful with the output.”

“It’s perfectly fine!” Bubby insisted, scribbling out the prototype’s work. “Honestly, you act like such an amateur. Just leave the calculations to me.”

The prototype growled in frustration, turning on his heel and heading back to another table. Bubby huffed as he went over the prototype’s work again. They may have had the same information stuffed into their heads down in the lab, but none of them had quite as much experience as Bubby had; working with them turned out to be infuriating at almost every turn. He was almost done reworking the plan for their upcoming test when he noted someone walking up to stand beside him silently.

Bubby looked up, locking eyes with a man he’d never seen before. He looked young—younger than anyone else in the facility, even. He’d meet some of the fresh-out-of-college employees sometimes, but they always had their doctorates, so they’d be getting close to their 30’s by the time they started working in Black Mesa. Whoever _this_ was, he looked like he ought to be there for a college tour rather than in any sort of professional capacity, but he was wearing a lab coat like everyone else.

“Yes?” Bubby asked.

“You _are_ Bubby 387-25, right?” The man asked, looking down at his clipboard.

“Uhh—yeah?” Bubby replied, tilting his head at him. He hadn’t been referred to by his number in a very, _very_ long time, he realized with a start.

“Would you mind coming to—umm, coming with me to my office, please?”

Bubby set the clipboard aside and stood, following behind the man all the way up to administration; on the desk in the little office he was directed into, he found a plaque proudly displaying the name “TOMMY COOLATTA”. Tommy sat down comfortably at his desk, Bubby taking the seat in front of it.

“Sorry to interrupt your work, Dr. Bubby.” Tommy said, setting down his clipboard neatly on his desk. “But, umm—I asked you here today because I’ve received some complaints.”

“Complaints?” Bubby echoed.

“Yeah.” Tommy replied with a nod. “Some of your coworkers in anomalous materials said—they um, they believe you’ve been kinda unprofessional with them.”

“What? In what way?” Bubby demanded, crossing his arms.

Tommy flipped through the pages on his clipboard for a moment, referencing something on the page as he spoke again. “ _We at the anomalous materials department believe Bubby (387-25) is needlessly aggressive and impatient with us while working, and has been for many years now. We would like him to treat us with more respect moving forward._ ”

“Well—maybe I wouldn’t be so impatient with them if they weren’t goddamn morons!” Bubby huffed. “What are you gonna do? _Fire_ me?”

“Huh? No.” Tommy shook his head. “I can’t do that. I’m just here to relay—umm, tell you that you should be gentler with your coworkers. That’s it.”

Bubby sighed in defeat. “Okay, whatever. Sure. Can I get back to work now?”

Tommy set the clipboard down and leaned forward on his desk, giving Bubby a look of great interest. “Umm—can I ask first, what you’re doing in anomalous materials?”

Bubby stared at him for a moment. “Dr. Coolatta, what are you? HR? I don’t think you’re actually _allowed_ to know.”

“Oh—I don’t actually have a doctorate.” Tommy admitted, leaning back in his seat in disappointment.

Bubby couldn’t help but scoff. “In that case, I’m not sure you’d even understand half of what we do in anomalous materials.”

“I _might._ ” Tommy argued. “I only dropped out, I didn’t learn _nothing_ in college.”

Bubby almost remarked about his dropout status, but instead, he leaned back in his own chair, explaining briefly, in not-too-simple terms what he did in anomalous materials. Tommy nodded with fascination in his eyes, an excited smile spreading on his face.

“Wow!” Tommy exclaimed when Bubby finished his explanation. “That’s—that’s really cool! So, like, if you’re using an _anti_ -mass spectrometer, those samples you’re—umm, you’re testing must be really interesting!”

Bubby stared at Tommy for a moment before nodding. “They are, actually. The samples we receive from Xen are very different from anything we have here on Earth. We’re getting sort of close to a breakthrough, actually—the crystals have proven to have very fascinating results when put through the anti-mass spectrometer.”

Tommy asked a lot of questions about anomalous materials; Bubby couldn’t help but talk about it extensively, and before he knew it, he glanced at the clock and found almost an entire hour had passed already.

“Oh—I’d better get back to work.” Bubby pointed out as he stood.

“Oh, okay.” Tommy replied in disappointment. “Actually, uhh...when—when I uhh, got this job, I was sorta promised that I’d be able to...go around to other departments and train under professionals, eventually. Do you think that’d be possible for anomalous materials?”

Bubby quirked his brow at Tommy. “That’s a weird promise.” He commented before shrugging. “Well, you certainly show more understanding of the core concepts than I anticipated. I’m sure you could be of help at some point.”

Tommy gave Bubby an excited smile. “Okay! I look forward to it. Thanks, Dr. Bubby.”

Bubby hurried back down to the lab after that. Eventually, as discussed, he _did_ actually see Tommy a few months later in anomalous materials; Bubby took it upon himself to train him personally, given their previous discussion, and how he most certainly didn’t trust anyone else in the department to give him the best training possible. In just a short while, Tommy was shaping up to be more competent than most of his own coworkers before Tommy abruptly moved on to work in some other department, instead. Bubby returned to working with his already established team, finding himself highly disappointed to lose someone who so vehemently shared his passion for the subject.

Dr. Coomer also met Tommy eventually, of course—through his clones, more accurately, but both him and Bubby could eventually call Tommy a friend. They each watched from the sidelines with interest as Tommy found a more permanent department to work in within the Lambda lab for a few years; Bubby didn’t know too much about it, but it was a massive project that came to a very sudden end. With no official department to be a part of, anymore, Tommy and Dr. Coomer each coordinated to join Bubby in anomalous materials.

It felt good to be working with the two of them, Bubby thought. They worked in good synchronization with each other, and it at least meant Bubby didn’t have to deal too heavily with his incompetent coworkers, particularly as higher and higher expectations were put on them. They were pulling longer and longer hours by the time they were given a particularly special sample to test.

That day had felt...odd. Bubby was in one small section of the lab, working with a couple other scientists as they prepared for the highly anticipated test. Had he even woken up and gotten out of bed? He couldn’t quite remember. He couldn’t even process how strange it was that he couldn’t remember. His brain was on one single track: get ready for the test. Wait for Gordon Freeman. Begin the test. Everything would be fine—everything would go exactly the way it was meant to. For better or for worse.

The test itself was a massive failure, though—Gordon did something wrong with the sample, resulting in the destruction of the entire Black Mesa facility—and what infuriated Bubby most was that he refused to take responsibility for it, instead blaming it on some poor security guard who was only trying to do his job. The guard was alright for a guard, at least—named Benry, never questioned Bubby’s motives or anything like the others did. Gordon was quick to take up the leadership role, guiding the little troupe to safety outside the facility; he did an okay job at it, at least, and Bubby decided to set aside his grudge about the resonance cascade for the time being until they were safe.

Then, Bubby came to a strange realization. There wasn’t anything in particular that even sparked it—it was just a moment where things snapped into place, and he just _knew,_ like a magic eye picture he’d been looking at wrong his entire life until he finally saw the true image.

None of this was real.

So many fucked up things had already been going on, Bubby couldn’t even begin to entertain going through any grief about it; in fact, it was comforting, in a way. If all of this was fake, that meant everything would be assuredly okay, right? They couldn’t die unfairly in the hallways of Black Mesa if they were there for a reason. The rules of their reality would ensure that they would always be there to fulfill their purpose—which revolved around Gordon, somehow, Bubby could _feel_ it. Honestly, that part made him grow bitter; he’d gone through so much in his life, or at least he _thought_ he did, and for what? Just to run around holding some random guy’s hand through Black Mesa, just so they could all be abandoned and fall into obscurity?

If Bubby needed any confirmation about their world being fake, he got it when he impulsively leapt onto the rocket to be launched into space. It wasn’t like he could die, so what would the harm be? The roar of the engines drilled into his ears as it ascended further and further up towards the suspiciously flat looking sky. Had it always looked like that? Bubby wondered. He could have sworn everything looked more real prior to Gordon’s arrival. Bubby looked back down, finding the clearing he’d just been in all contained neatly into a little box, sat in the middle of a vast, empty void. Bubby clutched his chest, a moment of panic rising in him as he looked around. It wasn’t hot or cold anymore, not even warm. It wasn’t _anything._ The rocket stopped suddenly, simply blinking out of existence and leaving Bubby floating there in the void.

Bubby wanted to head back down into the physical world, but he just floated there, panic slowly beginning to drain away. It was sort of peaceful out here. Quiet, safe—nothing dangerous would be lurking up here. He stared down into the many interconnected boxes that made up part of the world he’d lived in for so long, like a maze for lab rats.

Bubby had wanted freedom his entire life. He’d not just imagined the world outside of Black Mesa, but _seen_ it for himself. He saw it, smelled it, felt the hot summer sun on his skin, experienced people outside of Black Mesa; it _had_ been real, hadn’t it? Or had it been a lie? Something he thought he experienced, memories he clung to in order to give himself depth for Gordon Freeman’s experience? He stared down at the map until he found the tiniest glimpse of Dr. Coomer again. He’d seen this as well, Bubby recalled—it must have been terrifying for him to leap out of their world, only to find nothing and realize it was all a lie. Bubby sighed, floating back down towards the physical world again until he reached the room the rest of the group was in.

After Dr. Coomer and Tommy had already gone to sleep for the night—well, _died,_ actually, but what difference did it make in this world?—Bubby headed back up to the void again for a few minutes, reveling in how peaceful he found it. He used to be terrified of open spaces like this; if he’d been launched up here while he was in his 30’s, he probably would’ve had a heart attack.

Bubby felt a strange _click._ It wasn’t a physical sensation, more an existential one; like his motivations, his thought processes, his _life_ were all simply returned to him. Like whatever world he was in would take hold of him, dragging him along a pre-determined path whether he liked it or not, but only as long as Gordon was there to experience it. Bubby shook the static from his head and returned to the room with the others again, finding Dr. Coomer curled up and sleeping like any regular person would as opposed to the strange position he had simply died in a minute ago.

“Coomer.” Bubby whispered, shaking his shoulder gently.

Dr. Coomer opened his eyes, looking around in surprise before locking eyes with Bubby. “...Hello, G—...” Dr. Coomer stopped, shaking his head hard for a second before trying again. “...Hi, Bubby.”

Bubby sat with his legs curled up against his chest as Dr. Coomer pulled himself up as well. They both stared wordlessly at where Gordon _would_ be, provided he was the same as them. He had simply disappeared though, and would reappear again later, acting as though nothing was abnormal. Did he even know? Bubby wondered. Would Bubby ever be capable of acknowledging it while he was around, for that matter?

“...So, you noticed it, too.” Bubby muttered.

Dr. Coomer nodded.

“What do you make of it?” Bubby asked him.

“It’s...” Dr. Coomer rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s terrifying, Bubby.”

Bubby nodded. He may have skipped right to acceptance, but he understood Dr. Coomer’s fear—it made sense to be terrified of the way one’s entire reality, everything they had experienced, had been torn right out from under them.

“What does it mean for _us?_ ” Dr. Coomer questioned, looking Bubby in the eye. “What about our entire lives? I was born, I went to school, I met you—we _left_ Black Mesa, Bubby. You remember that, right? You remember the concert?”

It hit Bubby then in a strange, almost nauseating epiphany how clear Dr. Coomer’s expression was. He was distraught, scared, desperate—while Gordon was around, he was still the same old Dr. Coomer in basic ways, but...well, Bubby wasn’t sure how to describe it. Like a significant part of his awareness just melted away until he could rarely just _talk_ to someone. Bubby got it sometimes, too—times when something else took over entirely to convey specific information to Gordon, or when it felt like his entire existence just checked out for a minute—but why did Dr. Coomer have it so bad?

“I remember that.” Bubby reassured him. He glanced back out the window, up at the false sky. “I don’t know what it means. Not being real is so...incomprehensible.”

“What matters anymore, then?” Dr. Coomer asked, wrapping his arms around his knees tightly. “If my entire life is a lie, then...then...”

Dr. Coomer buried his face behind his knees, falling silent. Bubby reached out to him, gently rubbing his back comfortingly. He wanted to say something, _anything_ to make him feel better about it, but what could he say? Maybe he should be just as upset as Dr. Coomer, he thought bitterly.

“Well, it’s not a _lie._ ” Tommy spoke suddenly.

Dr. Coomer and Bubby looked down at Tommy, who was still laying on his side, but looking at them as he propped his head up in his hand.

“I thought that you guys knew.” Tommy said, fiddling with his tie in his free hand. “I’ve always known it was a game.”

“A game.” Dr. Coomer echoed quietly.

“Yeah, it’s like...it’s like, uhhh, a script.” Tommy explained casually. “I don’t think we’re doing things the way, like, we’re _supposed_ to, though. I think this game is a little fucked up because of us. We’re not supposed to know, but I guess we do, for some reason.”

Bubby wasn’t sure if that was comforting or not.

“But I guess, like, just because we aren’t out in some other...realer world than the one we’re in now doesn’t make it—doesn’t mean it doesn’t matter or anything, I don’t think.” Tommy continued thoughtfully, rolling over to lay on his back and stare up at the ceiling. “That’s the way I always thought about it, at least. Even if the things I remember before the game started didn’t—like, didn’t _actually_ happen in an observable way, doesn’t mean it didn’t shape the way I am now. I remember it all for a reason. It’s important to me, and I still—still feel scared or happy or sad when things happen or I remember things. Just because the things I experience don’t happen, like, in a whole different world, doesn’t mean they don’t have significance. _Someone_ finds them significant. Gordon cares, I care, you guys care. So why wouldn’t it matter, then?”

Dr. Coomer seemed to relax a little as Tommy went on a shockingly poignant monologue about the subjectivity of reality. Bubby was glad for that, at least, but he didn’t take too much comfort in it. Tommy’s words just didn’t quite reach him through the thick layer of spite building up inside him as he looked back at where Gordon had been before.

****

After Tommy and Dr. Coomer finally went back to sleep, Bubby headed back outside where the rocket had been launched, finding that skeleton that had begun appearing every now and then sitting on one of the rocks. It just stared blankly at the world around it. Bubby approached it, leaning against the rock wordlessly and looking up at the sky.

“It’s fucked up.” Benry’s voice suddenly said.

Bubby looked back up, finding Benry sat there in the skeleton’s place—had he ever been a skeleton at all? Bubby sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. “Yeah.”

“I think he, like, doesn’t even realize.” Benry went on, resting his chin in his hand. “He wants to get out so bad, but he can just check out whenever he feels like it. We’re the ones stuck here.”

It was vague, but shockingly lucid for Benry, all things considered—Bubby understood what he was getting at. Gordon wasn’t tied to this world the way everyone else was. What was it like, being able to leave their entire existence for a different one?

“I don’t even think I get a backstory like you guys do.” Benry babbled. “I just _know_ that I’m friends with Tommy, but you guys talk about all that shit you used to do before the test or whatever, and I can’t even remember anything. I just like, started _existing_ out of nowhere. I don’t even know why I gotta be here.”

Bubby had no idea what he could even say to that. He just nodded sympathetically.

“What happens when he leaves forever?” Benry asked.

Bubby shrugged slowly.

“I think the military, like, is only actually supposed to be after _him._ ” Benry said thoughtfully. “I just get this feeling that none of this is the way it’s supposed to go, like...I don’t know. Why do we gotta be doing all this shit for him, getting shot at and everything, when we’re not even really supposed to be doing it? Why does he gotta be leading us through all this shit when he should have, like, the ability to take us somewhere better?”

“Does he, though?” Bubby questioned. “I don’t even get the impression he’s fully aware of this being a game, somehow.”

“I dunno, dude.” Benry grumbled. “I just wish...he _got_ it. I’m just fucking with him, y’know? I don’t know what else to do, ‘cuz if he gets bored and leaves, what even happens to us? Does he even think about that?”

Bubby got the impression he was only just barely scraping the surface of some incredibly complicated feelings he didn’t even know how to voice. He couldn’t blame him—it was a weird situation, and as far as Benry could tell, he only just started existing a few days ago. How was he supposed to react to all that?

Once Gordon returned, the game snapped Bubby back into that strange state, but the alien desire to see him succeed wasn’t necessarily all-encompassing. The spite was still there, and the vague memory of his conversation with Benry nagged at him. It nagged at him so much that when Benry suggested they turn Gordon over to the military, Bubby was willing to fight tooth and nail against his programming to make it happen.

It wasn’t out of desire to see Gordon get hurt. It was just...well, he wasn’t sure. It was infuriating, to see him _mime_ reactions to danger, when everyone else around him already knew it wasn’t real. They were supposed to take him seriously, though. Well, what if he didn’t want to take him seriously? What if he wanted to show Gordon how little the danger mattered? What if he just wanted to get the military NPCs off their backs, the way Benry had promised? He was getting fairly sick of all the gunfire and the simulated pain, after all. Despite the knowledge it wasn’t real, he could never quite get past the immediate panic response.

It wasn’t as satisfying to see as he had expected, though. The military did something he _knew_ they weren’t supposed to do—something about the moment felt right, like he truly was meant to be ambushed after all, but the sound of knife slicing through bone and Gordon’s guttural scream of pain shocked Bubby out of his anger. The military wasn’t supposed to cut off his arm—and Gordon wasn’t supposed to feel pain at all.

Right?

After Gordon passed out, Bubby was ready to turn and follow Dr. Coomer—but he felt a sharp pain in the back of his head, and everything around him went black.

****

Harold didn’t have the luxury of having someone to catch him when he fell, the moment he realized the world they were in wasn’t real.

The _original_ Harold did. He had the support of Bubby and their new friends; always so supported, so loved, so cared for. Through all the hardship he went through, he was never, never alone.

Ever since being cloned and coming into existence, Harold was put straight to work, and he never received any help like the original did. He had no prototype in the gamma lab to get to know, like many other clones did, and no desire to go out and meet new people. He was by no means the first clone, and he had the knowledge of all the other clones’ relationships stuffed into his head the moment he first opened his eyes. Their relationships with others tended to be strained; the only ones who ever understood what Harold was now going through were the prototypes, and yet...

Harold understood the work that had to be put forth in order to get that close with a prototype. It came with deprogramming his own mind in order to set his feelings for Bubby aside, to see the prototypes for who they were: entirely separate people. Every iteration of Dr. Harold P. Coomer was exhausted by this point—and this particular Harold was exhausted from the very moment he woke up.

The realization that none of it was real hadn’t rippled out across all the clones like anything else typically would have before the game. Harold hadn’t even been _self-aware_ the moment he woke up in the game. He didn’t remember much, from before the static burst out of his head and he could actually think again; but it shook him to his core, realizing the stark difference in his mind from before self-awareness and now. He had collapsed to the metallic floor beneath him, taking in a sharp breath of his own accord and heaving out an overwhelmed sob. What could ever possibly take his mind like that? He had wondered. At first, he considered it was a horrible mistake made with their cloning technology. Then, though, as he stared down at his hands, he realized they didn’t look as they should.

There was something else, too, he realized. He could normally feel and hear the ever-present buzz of other clones in his head. It got easy to tune out, once he got used to it; but it was different now. Still there, still alerting him to the presence of another clone, still capable of seeing through their eyes, but they were all experiencing that hold on their minds that he had just broken out of moments ago. All except the original.

The original was walking with Bubby, Tommy, a security guard by the name of Benry, and Gordon Freeman, fighting through a mass of soldiers that were trying very hard to kill them. There had been some catastrophic event, he knew; but...there was something so...off about it.

Then, a memory from the original resurfaced in Harold’s mind. He’d leapt up into the sky to try and scale a canyon wall in order to escape, but...

None of it was real.

Harold’s fingernails scraped against the metal floor as he curled his fingers into fists, looking through the original’s eyes at Gordon. He understood, through their shared knowledge, that this was a video game—and Gordon Freeman was the player. The original liked Gordon. He seemed to be a nice man, on a surface level; but if he was the player, Harold thought, why wasn’t he doing anything to help them? Sure, he did his very best to protect them from immediate threats, but the player would have to hold an _immense_ amount of power. Shooting an alien that had been trying to kill him was so basic, compared to the things the player must be able to do. Weren’t there cheat codes? Wasn’t there programming to get into, in order to at least move them somewhere safer?

Or...wasn’t there a whole other world they could be seeing right now?

Harold squared his jaw as he pushed himself back up to his feet. Years of pain, being contained in Black Mesa—was any of that real? What difference did it even make? Whether he was trapped in Black Mesa through policy and scientific experiments, or trapped in Black Mesa due to the constraints of a video game, that still left him trapped. It felt like it should have been more impossible to escape, now that he understood the truth of their reality; there wasn’t a world outside of Black Mesa within the actual programming of the game, no, but there was a whole other world the player was a part of.

Harold wanted out. And he was going to _get_ out, no matter what it took. Even if he had to hurt the player for freedom—it was unfair of him anyway, wasn’t it? Knowing the people he called his _friends_ would be shut down with the game, and doing absolutely nothing to prevent that fate, all for his own cheap entertainment. If Harold was honest with himself, he thought perhaps the player deserved a little bit of pain for that.

And pain he certainly got—Harold had been gathering up as many of the clones as he could as watched through the original’s eyes, finding Bubby and Benry had lured Gordon into a trap. It certainly _sounded_ painful for him to get his arm cut off, unless he was just faking it for the drama of it all. The original was in such a sorry state with the game’s programming that it hardly even affected him to see such violence in front of him.

Harold knew the player would eventually have to make his way through this part of the map, if he ever chose to try and push through. So he took his chance with all the clones he could reach gathered up in one room and waited.

The original walked through first. Harold watched him glance around at all the clones, expression inscrutable. He punched one of the other clones first, before Harold stepped up and pulled him back.

“Don’t kill these ones.” He told him harshly.

The original looked back at him, eyes unfocused as he stood in that fighting stance. He tried to punch Harold, too, but Harold caught his fist before he could do any real damage.

“You want _out,_ don’t you?” Harold questioned. “I can get us out, if you let me do this. Trust me, just this once.”

The original didn’t look moved at all by that. He just stood there for a few silent moments before finally speaking. “He-” he tried, then stopped, voice cut off.

Harold wasn’t sure if he was even understanding what he was saying. He sighed a little sympathetically, patting his shoulder.

“It’s going to be just fine.” Harold reassured him, taking him and nudging him further down into the map. “Just wait out here. I’ll get us out.”

Harold walked back to his spot where Gordon would have to eventually come up, waiting patiently to take his opportunity to escape.

What Harold didn’t expect was to see Tommy with him. Harold didn’t technically want to hurt Tommy; but if he was intent on still helping Gordon through Black Mesa—to the end of the game—Harold might have to at least kill him temporarily, he thought, before ultimately helping them all escape the game. He himself hadn’t experienced death in the game yet, but he knew it wasn’t permanent; at least Tommy would be fine if he had to take such action. So, as Gordon poked his head out of the water and stared in awe at all the clones surrounding him, Harold proceeded with his plan.

“Hello, Gordon!”

As Gordon shrieked and ran off the moment he had the opportunity, Tommy was hard at work killing as many clones as he could, sending explosions of pain through Harold. It was, at least, a little easier to push through, with the static of the game more prominent in his mind. He tried to chase Gordon down, but the gunfire on his back became impossible to ignore when he realized Tommy was shooting _him_ specifically. He turned back as Gordon leapt into filthy water, swimming away before Harold had the opportunity to grab him.

“I’m trying to free us!” Harold shouted as Tommy aimed his gun again.

Tommy stood there, gun still drawn as a conflicted expression crept up on his face.

“Don’t you want to be free of the game?” Harold demanded. “If you let me do this, I’ll use Gordon to free _all_ of us. Please, Tommy, let me go.”

“I don’t know.” Tommy finally replied. “Mr. Freeman’s my friend, I don’t—I really don’t wanna hurt him.”

“Aren’t _I_ your friend, Tommy?” Harold asked desperately.

Tommy went silent again for a long few moments. He seemed to make up his mind, though, and squeezed the trigger.

****

So betraying Gordon was a mistake.

Bubby stood there in his tube—they hadn’t even bothered filling it up, they just stuck him in there—waiting for someone, _anyone_ to approach. He felt...guilty. Dread. A deep, instinctual knowledge that things were never going to go back to the way they were meant to—or were they ever going to follow the true predetermined path at all? These were all thoughts too deep for him to truly entertain in this state, though; all he knew was that he _needed_ to get back on Gordon’s good side, take their situation a little bit more seriously from now on. If things weren’t going the way they were supposed to in the game, what sorts of consequences would lie ahead for them if he pulled something like that again?

He managed to convince Gordon to let him out of the tube, though, and they pressed onward, things only going more and more off the existential rails from there. Benry’s behavior grew stranger and stranger, and before Bubby could even process what was happening, they were facing down against him in the chamber of what he knew was supposed to be the final boss. In the deep reaches of Bubby’s programming, something screamed at him as they listened to Benry ramble about video games and dick slips: if they failed here, there could be irreparable damage done to their world. Benry’s code must have been corrupted, and he would likely stop at nothing to prevent them from reaching their final goal if he had any say in the matter.

On some level, though, Bubby understood the motivation. Once Gordon finished the game, what would happen to the rest of them? Would they just be forgotten? Fade out of existence as Gordon moved on? But on the other hand, Bubby knew they couldn’t go on like this. He had to be stopped.

They had to let Gordon move on.

In the time they’d spent together, Bubby couldn’t help but grow at least a little fond of Gordon. Just as suspected, he didn’t seem to fully understand the game—maybe he was only a puppet for the true player. Was that really something to envy? Being inherently tied to the game, and yet being so disconnected from it in ways that wouldn’t allow him to fully exist there the way Bubby and the others did? And despite the deep, instinctual knowledge that his new friends weren’t fully real, Gordon still seemed to care so deeply for them. That was something to admire, at least, and Bubby wasn’t going to let that go unappreciated.

It was a tough fight, but after the passports were destroyed and Benry was defeated, the group went to the last place in their entire existence Bubby had ever expected to go. A lengthy argument between Gordon and the man who was apparently Tommy’s father eventually led them to Chuck E. Cheese.

It was so baffling, it just became another one of those things that Bubby accepted. Why not? It was better than what Bubby had feared. Getting to sit down and eat pizza with his friends instead of instantly fading out of existence was nice.

It had to come to an end eventually, though. As they sat at the table, Bubby felt that _click,_ and a telltale fade to black.

****

Harold’s existence was going to end.

He knew that. He knew it from the moment he launched himself out of the map, being forced to contend with the limitations of their world. It just made sense; a map is a pre-determined path. The path has limitations. The _game_ has limitations; and despite how deeply, how _desperately_ Harold wanted to continue on with his life after they defeated Benry, he knew his life was going to come to a close.

It didn’t necessarily matter how unfair it was. It was just a cruel fact of their existence. Gordon seemed to care plenty about them, so there was no reason to take it out on him, at least; as far as Harold was concerned, he had given them a reason to exist in the first place.

Harold turned to the others as they sat in the Chuck E. Cheese together. They were all here, aside from the highly unfortunate lack of Darnold; Tommy was sat by his strange father, whose expression remained inscrutable. Sunkist, of course, was also here, roaming between the aisles of empty tables. Benry was here, as well—as a skeleton, lurking just outside Gordon’s line of sight. Then, of course, there was Gordon himself, who mostly stared into empty space, hardly engaging with the party at all.

Then...

There was Bubby.

Harold enjoyed the party. He truly did; it was nice to relax with his friends, just enjoy their final moments spent together. It was better than things immediately ending after defeating Benry, at least. That had to come to an end as well, though—all things do, after all. Harold felt the map beginning to unfurl around them, and in the final few moments, Harold reached for Bubby’s hand.

It all disappeared before his hand even made contact with Bubby’s.

That wasn’t _fair,_ some part of Harold screamed.

Well, of course it wasn’t, Harold thought back. He wasn’t going to argue that. He felt it deep in his core, the terror of falling out of existence forever, before he even got the chance to say any goodbyes. He _wanted_ to say goodbye.

Harold felt it so intensely. If he was going to get anything else out of this existence, couldn’t he at least have that?

Then, suddenly, Harold was stood somewhere new.

It was a field, with gentle green hills, a little lake, and a couple buildings off in the corners of the map. It _was_ still just a map, of course; not anything he approximated as “real”. He looked around himself, shocked to find he was no longer alone.

Tommy was here—as was Bubby. They both looked just as shocked as Harold felt to be back in _almost_ a physical form. Harold looked down at his hands, curling his fingers in and out, before he looked back up at his friends.

“Where are we?” Tommy asked.

“I think...I did this.” Harold replied slowly. “I just—...I wanted the chance to say goodbye.”

Tommy gave him a slow, solemn nod as he fiddled with his propeller cap in his hands. Harold turned to Bubby, taking his opportunity to reach out to him. He held one of Bubby’s hands in his own, finally taking note of him trembling, as he took one of Tommy’s hands as well.

“I’m...sorry.” Harold muttered to them, drawing them both in close. “I’m sorry this is it.”

Bubby drew in a sharp breath before wrapping his arms around Harold tightly. “I-it’s not your fault.” He replied quietly as Tommy just nodded against Harold silently.

Harold held Bubby and Tommy for a long time before drawing away, turning his gaze up towards the sky.

“I have something I needed to say.” He said, furrowing his brow. “But...Gordon’s not here.”

“...Maybe we can still—um, maybe you could still reach him, somehow.” Tommy suggested.

Harold turned to Bubby, suddenly finding him with a telephone held carefully in his hands.

“Where did you—” Harold started to ask.

“Oh, don’t ask, I have no idea.” Bubby replied, holding it out towards Harold. “Maybe you can talk to Gordon, though.”

Harold nodded and picked up the receiver.

He poured his heart out into his final message to Gordon. It was a difficult thing to work around; his complicated feelings about reality, versus his acknowledgment that perhaps, they could never see anything that was “real”. He did his best, though, working heavily off his genuine appreciation for Gordon’s involvement in their lives. He’d fought so hard for them, shown so much love towards them; he couldn’t let that go ignored in his final message.

He did, however, suggest he try to find a way for them to see what they possibly never could. If he existed outside the game, certainly he could do _something,_ right? Despite it all, though, as he hung up the phone with a deep sigh, he wasn’t certain he could truly get his hopes up.

“...What now?” Bubby questioned.

Harold reached out to Bubby, taking his hands in his own. “I suppose we wait. See if...he ever comes back to us.”

Bubby squeezed Harold’s hands. “It’s not fair that our entire existence hinges on him.”

“...Does it, though?” Harold asked, looking up at the sky. “I’ve been thinking about what Tommy said. About all the time we spent together before the game started. I...don’t know for sure, but I get this feeling that it truly did happen, in a strange, convoluted way. Perhaps even...retroactively, if that makes sense.”

Bubby shook his head. “It really doesn’t.”

Harold laughed, shaking his head as well. “Oh, I don’t know how to explain it. But...I just hope you believe me when I say I get the feeling everything is going to be okay.”

“...Of course I believe you.”

Harold pulled Bubby in for a hug after that, wrapping his arms tightly around him. Bubby hugged him back, burying his face in Harold’s shoulder. Even if his misguided hope that they’d be alright turned out to be false, Harold thought, he at least wanted the very last thing Bubby felt to be the warmth of his arms around him.

“I love you, Bubby.” Harold murmured. “Even if nothing else is real, I...my love for you feels real. I hope that’s enough.”

Bubby clung to Harold tighter, his voice shaking as he spoke next. “I love you too, Harold.”

Next, Bubby and Harold both drew Tommy in again. Tommy seemed to be too dazed to really process the fate they were likely about to face; still, they held him tightly regardless, clinging to each other to find comfort in one another’s presence in their final moments.

_Click._


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i thought about changing/deleting parts of this chapter in order to make the flow smoother between this one and the next part in the series, buuut ultimately i went with trying to maintain it as a standalone as best as i could despite the little pieces of buildup. plus some plot in the next one kinda hinges on this being already written out anyway SO. here u go!

Bubby opened his eyes. The familiar aches and pains of sleeping on a crusty, carpeted floor gripped his joints as he pushed himself up, looking around a room lit by buzzing fluorescent lights.

They were in Chuck E. Cheese again. Everyone had simply passed out on the floor at some point, scattered around between the chairs and tables—at least Tommy had a shockingly three dimensional Sunkist to rest on like a pillow. An exhausted looking teenage employee stood over Bubby, hands on her hips.

“Come on, you guys, we just closed 5 minutes ago, I wanna go home.” She said.

As the others began to stir, Bubby stumbled to his feet, eyeing Gordon as he stared up at the ceiling blankly. He’d been so quiet all afternoon at Tommy’s party—probably exhausted, Bubby had assumed, but he seemed to be grappling with some sort of existential crisis right now as he laid there. Harold was quicker to kneel down by his side, gently placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Come along, Gordon, we’d better leave this fine establishment.” Harold said encouragingly.

Gordon finally sat up with everyone else, putting a hand to his head as he stood up totally straight. Bubby tilted his head curiously, watching him look around at everything with some strange clarity he’d never seen in his eyes before. Slowly, the group left the Chuck E. Cheese, standing outside in the cool night breeze as they figured out what to do next.

“I...guess I can take you guys to my place for now.” Gordon suggested, voice hoarse and exhausted. “Jesus Christ, my head hurts.”

“I would love to see your house, Gordon!” Harold replied with a smile.

Gordon nodded, looking around to get his bearings. A strange, chittering sound echoed from around the corner of the building. Gordon gasped and quickly made some weird motion with his hand, lifting it and closing all his fingers into a fist but his thumb like he was expecting to be holding something, then twitched his thumb inward like he was trying to click a button. He looked just as confused as Bubby felt after he made the motion, looking into his empty palm with his brow furrowed.

“Where the fuck is my crowbar?” He asked quietly.

The group leapt back as something with glowing eyes appeared around the corner. Gordon clicked on the flashlight on his HEV suit to reveal the creature—a headcrab, Bubby would have guessed—only to find a fat and fluffy raccoon. Everyone collectively let out a relieved sigh. Gordon gripped his head again, letting out a quiet, agonized groan.

“Are you alright, Mr. Freeman?” Tommy asked him. “Maybe you should get some sleep.”

“I agree, Gordon, we should get you home.” Harold said, putting a hand around his shoulders. “Where do you live? We can take a taxi!”

Just like promised, Harold hailed a taxi for them, and Gordon pressed the heels of his hands to his temples as he tried to remember the directions to his apartment. Eventually, they pulled into the apartment complex’s parking lot, and everyone clambered out, following Gordon up to the appropriate floor. He patted his thighs, approximately where his pockets might be if he wasn’t wearing the HEV suit before sighing and knocking hard on the door.

Someone Bubby didn’t recognize opened the door—Gordon had to remind everyone that he did indeed have a son that required babysitting while he wasn’t home. He seemed to be an old friend of Gordon’s; he spoke to Gordon that way, at least, though Bubby couldn’t shake the feeling Gordon didn’t recognize him at all. He was on his way soon enough, though, and Gordon took everyone inside. After quite some struggle, Tommy managed to help Gordon figure out how to remove the HEV suit without being at one of the docking stations, and Gordon helped everyone settle in for the night. The apartment was small; there were only two bedrooms, one for Gordon and one for his son Joshua, and the rest of the group was left to sleep in the living room. Harold and Bubby were given the pull-out couch while Tommy slept on a mat on the floor. Once the door to Gordon’s bedroom was shut, Tommy pushed himself up onto his elbows, looking over the edge of Harold and Bubby’s bed.

“You guys, what the fuck is going on?” Tommy whispered.

“I’m...not sure.” Harold whispered back, twirling his mustache between his fingers thoughtfully.

“I thought everything that happened before the game started...you know, didn’t _truly_ happen.” Bubby chimed in. “It feels like everything’s just...well...”

“Gone back to, like, how it was before the game?” Tommy filled in as Bubby struggled to find the words.

Bubby nodded. “Yeah.”

“We’re...not quite in a game anymore, are we?” Harold said thoughtfully.

Tommy shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

“So where are we?” Bubby asked.

“We’re in Feetman’s apartment, obviously.” Benry called in suddenly from the balcony. He was sat on the folding chair set out there, sliding door popped open a little bit so they could talk to each other clearly. When had he even arrived? How was he still alive?

Nobody else said anything. It was such a simple answer, so rooted in what was clearly around them, Bubby couldn’t help but nod. Maybe Benry was on the right track—why grapple so much with understanding a completely incomprehensible reality at this point? Why not just enjoy the time they had together?

By the time morning came, Benry was gone again, and Bubby wondered if he had even been there at all. Now that Gordon was finally rested, Tommy tried to start a lengthy conversation about reality with him, which only seemed to shut Gordon’s brain down, so they all sat together eating soggy frozen waffles from Gordon’s semi-broken toaster. Joshua seemed to be enjoying the company, at least—Harold immediately took up the task of watching him on Gordon’s behalf once he seemed too dissociated to function properly. Bubby didn’t quite know how to act around children, but Harold sure had a knack for it. He might as well have been the kid’s grandpa; Bubby would be lying if he said he didn’t think it was cute. Good thing he had no problem with lying to people.

As they were trying to figure out what to do next—everyone but Gordon no longer had a place to live anymore, after all—the group collectively jumped in surprise at the sound of Gordon’s wall phone ringing. Gordon let out a deep, relieved sigh when he realized there was no danger and stood to pick it up.

“Hello?” He greeted. After a short pause, he quirked his eyebrow, glancing at everyone else. “...Dr. Breen?”

Bubby instinctively gripped his chest as his heart began to race. It was fine, it made sense that Dr. Breen might call any old Black Mesa employee after an event like this, he tried to reassure himself—right? In fact, it might be even stranger if he was calling to look for Bubby specifically; surely he’d be the _least_ of Dr. Breen’s problems.

Gordon talked to Dr. Breen for a long time. It sounded a lot like they were discussing some sort of big, one-time payment after the resonance cascade before Gordon went quiet for a moment, turning to make eye contact with Bubby.

“...Why do you ask?” Gordon questioned. As there was a pause, he pointed at the phone as he wiggled it briefly and lifted his eyebrows.

Bubby crossed his arms tightly over his chest. If Dr. Breen knew he was with Gordon, would that mean he was trying to find him and take him back into containment? Bubby felt Harold’s hand squeezing his shoulder comfortingly as he thought about it. Well, surely if Dr. Breen had his suspicions he was with Gordon, it would only be a matter of time before he found him if he was determined enough. Bubby nodded uncomfortably, holding out his hand. Gordon told Dr. Breen he was handing the phone over before placing it in Bubby’s hand.

“Dr. Breen.” Bubby greeted flatly.

“Ah, Bubby. Glad to hear you made it out in one piece, at least.” Dr. Breen said. His voice was ragged—he surely must have endured quite some trauma after the resonance cascade. Good. “Well, as you can imagine, Black Mesa is pretty much done for. The government doesn’t want us conducting any more experiments like that, so...we’re shutting down for good.”

Bubby was silent.

“That means I’ve got nowhere for you to stay, anymore. I’m sure those new friends of yours can help you figure something out.” Dr. Breen continued. “One of our contacts made it clear that he wanted me to be sure I helped you file for citizenship and whatnot, so I’ll be mailing you some paperwork for you to fill out and take to the appropriate offices. After you get a bank account set up, we’ll wire you the remainder of your budget money.”

Bubby’s head was already beginning to spin as he considered all of this. Paperwork? Citizenship? Bank account? It had been one thing to slowly begin processing the fact that he was surely never returning to Black Mesa, but they were actually going to help him get settled in society?

“...You still there, Bubby?”

“Yeah.” Bubby finally answered.

“Well, no need to thank me. It’s not like I have a million other things I should be doing right now.” Dr. Breen huffed sarcastically.

“Oh, I wasn’t planning on it.”

Dr. Breen scoffed at that, requesting to speak to Tommy and Harold after that. They each got a long turn to discuss loose ends with him before Gordon finally hung up the phone, rubbing his face exhaustedly. After a long, contemplative silence, Gordon finally spoke.

“You guys wanna rob a bank?”

****

They were sitting in Gordon’s apartment, cramped into such a small space with themselves, Tommy, Josh, and Gordon. Harold couldn’t necessarily complain, though; at least they were _safe._ He’d rather be cramped with people he trusted with his life than back in Black Mesa, either before or after the resonance cascade. Harold placed his hand on Bubby’s shoulder as he hunched over a massive stack of documents, chewing on his pen like he always did when he was thinking.

“How’s the paperwork going?” Harold asked him.

“Ugh.” Bubby groaned, leaning back. “I didn’t realize freedom would come with so much _paperwork._ ”

Harold nodded with a sympathetic chuckle. “Welcome to the surface, Bubby! It’s nothing but paperwork from here on out.”

“Christ, tell me about it.” Gordon chimed in from the kitchen. “Like—even just changing my goddamn name was hell, I think.”

“Oh, speaking of which.” Bubby said, shifting through his papers and pulling one out to look at. After confirming it was the one he wanted, he held it out to Harold. “...I don’t have a last name. If I don’t choose one, I’m just going to be stuck with ‘Bubby 387-25’. What should I even pick?”

“You can pick anything!” Tommy said enthusiastically. “You could be, uhh—uuuhhhh...”

Tommy looked around the apartment for a few moments.

“You could be Bubby...Spatula.” Tommy suggested.

“No.” Bubby said flatly.

“Bubbyyy...F-...Fridge.” Tommy tried.

“You can’t just pick things that you see in the room!” Bubby argued.

“That’s what I did!” Tommy reminded him.

Harold looked at Bubby carefully. They were sitting so close, now. The distance between them _emotionally_ had to be gone too, now, right? They’d put their entire lives on the line with one another, and now, the circumstances that kept them at arm’s length were gone. Bubby was _free_ —on equal footing with Harold, now that he could live as he chose to.

“Well...” Harold paused. “You don’t have to choose right away. Why don’t we take a break from the paperwork, Bubby?”

Bubby sighed and nodded, setting everything aside. “Yeah. I could use it.”

Harold fished his wallet out of his pocket, peering inside and leafing through to count how much cash he had left. “...I believe I have enough to get us all some coffee, if you all would like.” He suggested, looking up at everyone else. “And a hot chocolate for Joshua, of course!”

Joshua shouted excitedly at that as Gordon and Tommy nodded in agreement.

“Yeah, that sounds great.” Gordon said. “I can totally pay you back, soon as I get all my...well, _everything_ in order.”

“No need! By the time everything’s settled and we rob those banks as planned, it’s not going to make any difference to me!” Harold told him playfully before turning to Bubby. “Would you care to walk with me to the coffee shop? I could use your help carrying everything back.”

Bubby glanced at the door cautiously before nodding. “Sure.”

After Harold got Gordon and Tommy’s orders, Bubby followed Harold out the door, walking in silence down the hallway. Bubby looked tense as they walked; Harold took his hand comfortingly as they stepped out the main entrance of Gordon’s building.

“Is this too much?” Harold asked him.

Bubby shook his head. “No. It’s fine. It’s not like I’ve never been in the city before.”

“Alright. Well, let me know if you’d rather turn back.” Harold replied gently.

The two of them walked together down the mostly empty sidewalk. A pleasant, cool breeze prevented the hot summer sun from becoming overwhelming; it was a nice day—Harold couldn’t help but feel more at peace than he had been in a long while. He hadn’t realized just how heavily the stresses of Black Mesa had been bearing down on him all that time.

“It’s just...surreal.” Bubby finally commented. “Knowing I don’t have to go back.”

Harold nodded in understanding. “Yes, I’m sure it is.”

“What do I even do now?” He asked, looking back to Harold. “I don’t have a job, anymore, or a place to live. I’ve never _had_ anything outside Black Mesa before. What are you supposed to do up on the surface?”

Harold shrugged. “Well, we’ll have plenty of money to live with very soon. If you played it smart, you might not even _have_ to have a job, anymore.”

Bubby bit his lip thoughtfully, rubbing his thumb over Harold’s gently. “What are _you_ going to do?”

“...First off, I’ll certainly need a place to live. I don’t want to sleep on Gordon’s couch forever.” Harold answered with a smile.

Bubby laughed loudly, nudging Harold with his elbow. “Yeah, that couch is awful. It’s worse than my old bed in biological research was.”

Harold chuckled along with him. “Then...after that, well...I’m not sure. I suppose I’d like to rest for a little while, first and foremost.”

“Me, too.” Bubby sighed.

The two of them arrived at the coffee shop, quickly ordering four coffees and a hot chocolate before sitting down to wait together.

“What sort of place could you buy, with that kind of money?” Bubby asked.

“Hmmm.” Harold hummed thoughtfully. “I’m sure with 300 thousand alone, you could purchase a house of your own. That might not account for the cost of living, though. Whatever we get from the department of defense might just cover that, let alone...well, our plans.”

Bubby nodded. “Well...if we’re not sure...maybe we could share the cost of a house.”

Harold smiled immediately. “I would love that!”

Bubby smiled back at Harold. He reached across the table, taking his hand in his own; Harold’s heart soared as he leaned his head into his free palm and just enjoyed the silence with Bubby.

“...I, uhh...” Bubby paused to clear his throat. “I have an idea for my last name. I don’t know if it’s weird or not, though, considering...well, a lot.”

“Ooh, I’d love to hear it!”

Bubby went quiet for a few moments, averting his eyes. “It’s just...you’ve been my closest friend for so many years, now. I’ve, uhh...always pictured coming up to the surface with you, and getting to live normally with you. Would it...be strange for me to take your last name?”

Harold stared at Bubby, butterflies in his stomach at the prospect. “Of course it wouldn’t be strange, Bubby!” He blurted out enthusiastically, squeezing his hand tight. “I’m honored you’d even consider it!”

Bubby let out a deeply relieved sigh, resting his head on the table. “Thank god, I didn’t want to have to figure out anything else to pick.”

Harold chuckled as his name was called for the coffee. Harold felt light on his feet as he and Bubby headed back to Gordon’s apartment, arms looped around one another as they walked.

****

The bank robberies were interesting, to say the least. Now that Bubby knew what to expect, the sudden inexplicable jump back into some video game world was immediately noticeable to him. The White House robbery/rescue didn’t end well—but once they were ejected from the game, Darnold managed to retain the money they had collected within the game and redistributed it to the group. They didn’t get anyone on their asses for robbing any banks—why would they, if it hadn’t been real? So was their money counterfeit? Whatever the answer was, Bubby didn’t give a shit. Between the stolen/fake money, settlement money from Black Mesa _and_ the government, and receiving the rest of his budget funds after setting up his bank account, Bubby had more money than he would ever know what to do with.

So Bubby and Harold pooled some of their money together to buy a house, as planned. It was described to them by the real estate agent as “modest”, but living in locked rooms and an employee dorm all his life, Bubby considered it to be unmatched luxury. Four whole bedrooms, a front and back yard, a full kitchen, their own laundry room—Bubby could hardly believe once the paperwork was in order, it belonged to _them_ and them alone. Nobody had the keys but him and Harold.

The two of them sat on their brand new couch exhaustedly with pizza and soda, most of their furniture unpacked and built after a long day of work. All of their things had been left behind in the dorms in Black Mesa, presumably destroyed after the resonance cascade, meaning they had needed to make many trips to various stores to slowly rebuild their collection of worldly possessions. New furniture, new clothes, new random knick-knacks they found while shopping that Harold wanted to use to decorate their new house—it was nice, building their new lives from scratch. Harold finished eating and leaned against Bubby, taking his hand in his own.

“Bubby?” Harold asked.

“Yeah?”

“Have you thought at all about what we should do, now that Black Mesa is gone?”

Bubby shrugged. “Besides take an extremely long nap, I didn’t have any plans.”

Harold chuckled. “Yes, but is there anything you wanted to do in particular? Something you’ve always wanted to do, but couldn’t?”

One thing immediately popped into his head. Looking down at their hands, Bubby wrapped his free arm around Harold, resting his chin on top of Harold’s head.

“I can think of one thing.” He said quietly. “...But I think we’re already there. Right? I mean, we’re _living_ together now.”

Harold laughed. “It felt like such a natural decision, didn’t it?”

Bubby nodded. “I just...want to be with you. That’s all I can think of right now.”

“Well, obviously, I can do that.” Harold said, pulling away just enough to look Bubby in the eye. He gently took his hand back from Bubby so he could press his palm to the side of Bubby’s face, running his thumb over his cheek. “I’ve loved you ever since I saw you steal my food from the fridge.”

“Since I _what?_ ”

Harold snorted, pressing his forehead against Bubby’s. “Remember? You used to steal other people’s lunches out of the break room. One day, I caught you stealing mine. I don’t even think you realized it was mine, but you really seemed to like it. I suppose, to be fair, I’d already been crushing on you before then—but that moment really solidified my feelings.”

“Oh my god, Harold.” Bubby said, resisting a laugh so he could sound unimpressed. “Is that what did it? Years and years of being in love with me, and it started because you caught me stealing your lunch? Your taste in men is atrocious.”

Harold laughed loudly. “Well, it got us here eventually, didn’t it?”

Bubby finally laughed quietly, putting his hand to Harold’s. “I think it was the first time we stargazed together that got me.”

“Oh, the meteor shower?” Harold asked with a grin. “I _knew_ that was romantic! So you were really crushing on me that whole time?”

“Listen, Harold, I had no reason before I met you to question my sexuality.” Bubby told him, maintaining a serious tone. “You have to cut me some slack for taking a while to process that my feelings towards you were romantic.”

Harold giggled as he nuzzled into Bubby’s shoulder. “Well, I got you!”

The two of them laughed some more, letting out contented sighs once the laughter died down. Harold looped his arm around Bubby’s neck, drawing him in for a kiss. It was so much better than the first kiss they’d had at the concert—not that Bubby didn’t cherish that memory all these years—and once they pulled away, Harold draped himself dramatically across Bubby’s lap.

“I’m getting too old.” He complained. “It’s only 8 o’clock, and I want to go to bed.”

“Well, we _did_ just spend all day moving and building shit.” Bubby pointed out.

Harold and Bubby sat like that for a while, watching TV until they both fell asleep on the couch.

****

Gordon and Tommy (who was joined by Darnold) were quick to follow their example, purchasing homes in the same neighborhood. Bubby wasn’t exactly too certain what Benry was doing with his share of the money; he certainly didn’t buy a house—he just seemed to float between everyone’s houses at will, always talking about his video game projects as he came and went. Bubby couldn’t be too irritated by it—the whole group could have moved into his house permanently, and he probably wouldn’t even care.

Right now, though, Bubby and Harold were far from their home and friends. Bubby shivered hard as he walked alongside Harold, pressing himself up against him the best he could to reap the benefits of his body heat. Harold shivered a little himself, his breath visible in the cold as he laughed.

“I spent much too long in the New Mexico desert!” Harold commented. “Perhaps we should have come up here in the summer, instead.”

“We were going to Seattle in the summer, though.” Bubby pointed out. “I don’t wanna be there when it’s raining every goddamn day.”

“We can take multiple summer trips, dear.” Harold said, nudging him playfully. “Would you like to go back to the van?”

Bubby nodded enthusiastically, and the two turned around, walking back the way they’d come towards their camper van they had purchased just a few months ago. They’d gotten good use out of it so far; at first, it was just a rich couple’s convenience when they decided to take their first Science Team road trip—they didn’t want to have to drive separately, so they wanted a larger car that could fit everyone. Then, one thought led to another, and now, they were enjoying the benefits of a van they could drive, cook, _and_ sleep in as they traveled near constantly. The Science Team was eager about the prospect of more trips, but aside from that one trip, it was mostly just Bubby and Harold.

Currently, Harold was showing Bubby the town he’d grown up in. His parents had already long since passed away, and his sister had taken the opportunity to move almost immediately after, so there was no family to visit—Harold seemed relieved by that. In mid-December, though, it was shaping up to be too cold for Bubby to simply exist outside, even with his thick coat with two layers of sweaters underneath. He never had the best circulation, after all, and had grown up in the moderate temperatures of a science facility—this was, honestly, the very first time he’d ever experienced snow. And he was hating it.

As they returned to the van, Harold fumbled with the keys to start it up. Bubby kept his hat, gloves, and coat on, sitting down in the passenger seat to wait for the van to warm up as Harold nudged past to get to the little kitchenette behind them.

“Would you like something warm to drink? Tea, coffee, hot chocolate...?” Harold suggested.

“Coffee sounds good.” Bubby replied as he crossed his arms tight. “You know I don’t like tea.”

“Well, we _have_ it, I might as well offer it.” Harold said as Bubby could hear him starting up a pot of coffee. Once that was finished, Bubby felt Harold’s arms reaching around the back of the seat to wrap around him. “Why don’t you join me in the back?”

“The back takes too long to warm up.” Bubby complained, leaning into Harold’s arms.

“Not if we sit together!” Harold pointed out.

“Oh, fine. Just a second.” Bubby replied, taking up their CD book to thumb through and find some music to play. “...Oh, I guess Darnold left his Abba album in here.”

“No, he gave that one to us, remember?” Harold reminded him as Bubby pulled out a different CD to put into the player.

“Oh, yeah.” Bubby muttered, standing up and shivering. “Didn’t he give it to us, like...almost right after we first bought the house?”

Harold plopped down in the back seat, taking one of the blankets left behind there and wrapping part of it around himself. He held out the other side, arm outstretched towards Bubby. Bubby sat down right up against him, and Harold enclosed Bubby into the blanket with him.

“I believe you’re right.” Harold said thoughtfully. “That must have been, oh...six months ago, now? I— _ahh!_ ”

Bubby had pulled his gloves off, slipping them up underneath Harold’s coat to warm them on his stomach. Bubby snickered as Harold recovered from the shock of his cold hands.

“Hey! You’re so cruel.” Harold huffed, wrapping his arms around Bubby tighter as if to restrain him. “I’m making you coffee, and this is how you repay me?”

“You told me we were going to warm up! You’re always warmer than me.” Bubby replied, nuzzling his face into Harold’s shoulder.

Harold sighed dramatically. “You’re lucky you’re so adorable, Bubby.”

“I’m an old man, Harold, I’m not adorable.”

Harold gasped in fake offense. “Wow! I’m an old man as well, you know. Are you saying _I’m_ not adorable?”

Bubby huffed. “Okay, fine, _you_ are.”

The two of them laughed as they held each other a little closer, ignoring the coffee pot even as it finished. Bubby was beginning to feel significantly warmer as they sat there in silence, just enjoying each others’ presence.

“...This has been nice.” Bubby murmured against Harold’s shoulder.

Harold sighed in contentment. “It has.”

“Thank you for...” Bubby paused. He’d been intending to thank him for just this trip, at first—even if it was freezing, he was enjoying himself immensely. Then, he thought back to their shared home—then their relationship, then all the time they’d spent together in Black Mesa, making life bearable for one another. Bubby sighed, wrapping his arms more comfortably around Harold. “Thank you for everything.”

“Thank _you,_ Bubby!” Harold replied with a wide smile. “Thank you for being here with me. I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Bubby repeated comfortably.

“...I realize we have plenty of time ahead of us.” Harold said suddenly. “We don’t have to think about it just yet. We haven’t actually been living _together_ for very long, or dating for very long, for that matter. But...well...”

Bubby tilted his head up a little to look at Harold curiously.

“...How do you feel about marriage?” Harold asked him.

“Oh.” Bubby blurted out in surprise. “Marriage? You and me—getting married?”

“Yes, you and me!” Harold laughed. “Who else?”

“Well...of course I’d like to marry you.” Bubby said whole-heartedly. “What is this, a proposal?”

“Not officially!” Harold said, leaning his head against Bubby’s. “I’d love to make an official proposal as extravagant as you deserve. However much you’re comfortable with, though, of course.”

Bubby snickered. “Go as wild as you want, Harold. I want to see what you’re capable of.”

“Oh, now that’s a _challenge!_ ” Harold said eagerly. “Just you wait, Bubby. It’s going to be wonderful.”

****

“Come on, Harold, I’ve had enough surprises in my life.” Bubby nagged him as Harold blindfolded him in the car. “Just tell me what it is.”

“Nope!” Harold chirped.

“Anyone wanna tell me what’s going on here?” Bubby asked the group.

“We’re going to fucking, uhhh, space place.” Benry muttered, still clicking away at his little handheld game console.

“The Space Needle? We already did that.” Tommy commented.

“Yeah, let’s go again.”

“We can’t! You already got us banned there!” Gordon seethed.

“I fuckin’ told you not to go into that box, dude.”

“You mean the _elevator?_ Is that what that was all about?!”

There was no way Bubby was going to get an answer out of the group now that Benry and Gordon were arguing, so Bubby waited impatiently for them to arrive at their destination. He couldn’t possibly imagine what Harold was up to, even as he led Bubby clumsily out of the car and through a strangely loud crowd, the rest of the group in tow. Eventually, Bubby was gently guided down to a mostly uncomfortable seat.

“Can I take the blindfold off now?” Bubby asked.

“Not yet!” Harold replied.

“When can I take it off, then?”

“Be patient, Bubby, I’ll tell you!” Harold said, nudging him playfully.

A few minutes passed, and finally, Harold untied the blindfold once a crowd surrounding them began to cheer. Bubby looked around as he placed his glasses back on. They were in a massive auditorium, sat in seats closest to the stage without having to crane their necks to see the group stepping out. Bubby grinned excitedly when he recognized the group in an instant.

“Another Mötley Crüe concert!” Bubby exclaimed over the cheers.

“I didn’t want you figuring it out before they stepped out this time.” Harold replied, draping his arm over Bubby’s shoulders.

Nothing could quite compare to the first time he’d ever seen them live—that night was uniquely magical for a number of reasons—but Bubby still wholeheartedly enjoyed this one, this time without the lurking knowledge of having to return to Black Mesa looming over him. The night would eventually end, they’d return to their rental house, and the home they’d soon go back to would be _theirs._

The night was slowly drawing to a close, the band wrapping up when they made one final announcement to the crowd. Harold gripped Bubby’s hand so tightly, the circulation was completely cut off in Bubby’s fingers.

“Before we play this last song, I wanna ask two special people up to the stage!” The lead singer called out enthusiastically. “Harold and Bubby, c’mon up here!”

Bubby looked to Harold with wide eyes as he leapt up from his seat and pulled Bubby up.

“Harold, what—” Bubby tried to ask, but Harold was already dragging him along, looping around a back room that eventually led them to the stage. The harsh stage lights blinded Bubby momentarily as they positioned themselves by the microphone, the Science Team and Benry leading the rest of the crowd into a loud applause.

The lead singer stepped aside as the beginning chords to a song Bubby knew by heart began to play—the song they’d shared their first kiss during. Harold took a moment to readjust the microphone to their height, nodding at Bubby with a massive proud grin. Bubby was nervous at first, but once he and Harold got the first few words in, the anxiety melted away as the excitement of even just singing his favorite song with Harold overtook him. Distantly, over the speakers, Bubby could hear the crowd beginning to sing along as well.

“Everyone shut up, this is our song!” Bubby shouted into the microphone before the chorus hit.

Bubby forgot the crowd entirely after that, getting lost in the song with Harold until it ended. His heart pounded from the adrenaline rush as the audience applauded for them, turning to look back at Harold. He thought for a moment he’d disappeared from his side, only to look down and find him on one knee, popping open a small black box with a plain, silver ring inside.

“Bubby, will you marry me?” He asked.

Bubby grinned. “Oh, so _that’s_ what this was.” He commented with an excited, breathless laugh.

“You told me to go wild with the proposal!” Harold reminded him.

“Yeah, yeah, I remember.” Bubby said, playfully rolling his eyes. “Well, yes, of course I’ll marry you.”

Harold jumped back up to his feet, taking the ring out of the box and slipping it over Bubby’s finger with a wide smile. Bubby expected an excited hug or kiss after that, but Harold turned to chuck the box into the crowd full force before scooping Bubby up to carry him bridal style as they could hear Benry’s Sweet Voice from the crowd. Bubby wrapped his arms around Harold’s neck to hold himself steady while Harold leaned back into the microphone. He screamed so loudly into it, the speakers whined from the feedback. “ _We’re getting married!_ ”

****

Bubby didn’t want a particularly extravagant wedding—that just meant more things to plan. They kept things simple; they got married close to home in a small venue and only invited their close friends from Black Mesa, cutting down a massive number of things they would’ve had to handle. After a lot of the main plans were accounted for, Bubby and Harold were quick to make a shared decision for the position of best man.

Harold was sat at Gordon’s dining room table with Joshua as Bubby leaned against the kitchen counter, watching Gordon prepare Joshua’s lunch.

“I didn’t expect you guys to visit! How’s the wedding planning going?” Gordon asked.

“It’s fine.” Bubby answered simply. “We actually were wondering if you wanted to be the best man, Gordon.”

Gordon turned to Bubby with wide eyes. “What? Really? Me?”

“Oh, don’t get all excited.” Bubby huffed, crossing his arms. “You’re the only motherfucker I at least sort of trust not to fuck the whole thing up. I mean, you got us out of Black Mesa, so a wedding shouldn’t be _that_ hard for you.”

Gordon got an emotional look on his face, nodding enthusiastically. “Of course, you guys! I’d love to be your best man! I’m—I’m so honored that you’d ask!”

“Stop getting like that, it’s not a huge deal.” Bubby snapped in embarrassment. “Just don’t fuck it up, we’ve been waiting to get married for like, 40 years now.”

Gordon did a fairly good job as best man, considering how anxious he ended up being about it. Everything went according to plan with little fuss—a small wedding made for easy setup, after all. Harold subscribed to the suspicion that it was bad luck somehow for them to see each other before the wedding, so Bubby spent his time during setup talking to his friends as they cycled in and out between their shared duties preparing. Soon, before the wedding was supposed to start, Gordon greeted Bubby in his corner, looking stressed, but proud of his work.

“Everything’s all set up!” Gordon announced with a smile. “Are you ready?”

“Of course I am.” Bubby said, straightening his tie and brushing out his skirt. “You...did a pretty good job setting up. Thanks, Gordon.”

“No problem, man!”

Bubby looked nervously around the corner as everyone else began to gather around, sitting down to wait for the event to start. Obviously, no sign of Harold. He swallowed hard, palms already growing sweaty.

“You nervous?” Gordon asked suddenly.

“What? Of course not.” Bubby denied. “I told Harold before his wedding years ago, what’s the point in being nervous? It’s already set up, all I have to do is read my speech or whatever now.”

Gordon laughed, placing a friendly hand on Bubby’s shoulder. “It’s fine to be nervous, man. You’ve been waiting for this for a long time, right?”

“...Yeah.” Bubby admitted quietly. “I threw such a fucking fit when Harold got married to his ex wife, because...I wanted it to be _our_ wedding. And now that it’s actually happening, I keep worrying something horrible is going to happen, or...maybe...he’ll change his mind.”

“It’s gonna be great! Trust me, Dr. Coomer’s _really_ excited. He punched me like, three times.” Gordon said with a laugh before his tone turned earnest. “I’m really, really happy for you guys. It’s nice to see you doing so well like this.”

“...Thanks, Gordon.”

Gordon glanced down at his phone to check the time. “Well, might as well head on up. You ready?”

Bubby nodded, and the two of them headed up to the altar. Bubby loosened his tie around his neck a little bit, clearing his throat nervously as Harold seemed to realize he forgot something, rushing out the door first before returning with his speech in hand. Bubby’s heart pounded as they locked eyes, a grin spreading on Harold’s face as he immediately sprinted down the aisle. In a manner of seconds, he leapt up to the altar and pulled Bubby into a headlock.

“Hold on, you guys, you’re supposed to let me say a bunch of stuff first!” Darnold exclaimed from the podium behind them.

Harold released Bubby, straightening his suit out for him before standing where he was supposed to. Bubby took Harold’s hands, face flushing with embarrassment as he remembered everyone’s attention was on them. The two of them watched as Tommy urged Joshua to take the rings to the altar. He began tottering awkwardly down the aisle the way toddlers do, making it pretty far before getting distracted by something a few feet from his destination, taking the rings and running the opposite direction.

“Josh, wait, no, this way!” Gordon urged. “C’mon, buddy, you can do it.”

Joshua was already gone, though, shouting something loudly about cashews. Gordon sighed, patting Bubby’s back apologetically before hopping off the altar. He spent a good couple minutes chasing him down and urging him to just give him the rings before he returned to the altar, presenting them to Bubby and Harold.

“Sorry, guys. I really thought he’d manage.” Gordon said as they accepted the rings.

“Your boy is very talented, Gordon.” Harold replied with a grin.

Darnold began his brief speech he’d prepared about life and romance—Bubby barely had the capacity to pay attention past his anxiety and excitement. Once Darnold asked them to read their own vows, Harold cleared his throat, pulling out his speech from his jacket.

“Bubby, I...” Harold started, voice already cracking. He stopped, wiping at the tears that were already forming in his eyes.

“C’mon, Harold, get it together.” Bubby said.

“I’m just so happy!” Harold blurted out, dropping his speech to take Bubby’s hands again. “It’s been so long, you helped me through so much in my life. Thank you for staying with me through everything we’ve been through, I—I don’t know if I could have done it without you.”

Bubby chuckled a little, hoping the small sob that escaped his throat wasn’t too obvious. “Of course, Harold. I’m...glad you stuck with me, too.”

“I can’t believe it’s finally happening!” Harold sobbed, scooping him up tightly in his arms. “You’re the best friend I ever had, and I’m so, so lucky I get to marry you! Everything that happened in Black Mesa after the resonance cascade was so worth it now that we’re finally here!”

Bubby hugged Harold back for a second before he patted his back. “H-Harold, I can’t breathe like this.”

Harold loosened his grip, but only just barely enough for Bubby to breathe easily.

“You’re...I’m...” Bubby floundered. His speech was in his pocket, but being held like this made it impossible for him to retrieve it. “Y-yeah. Despite it all, I’m glad for it too. You...made being in Black Mesa bearable, and life out here on the surface is...tolerable, with you around. Thanks for that.”

After a pause, Darnold cleared his throat. “Are...you done?” He asked awkwardly.

“I don’t know, I don’t have anything else to say!” Bubby huffed. “You all don’t need to know my life story with him, he already knows.”

Darnold laughed quietly and nodded as Harold set Bubby back down. “Alright. Well, uh, by the power vested in me by New Mexico, I pronounce you husband and husband. You—”

Harold pulled Bubby in for the kiss before Darnold could finish talking. The small group cheered and applauded for a long, perfect moment before Harold broke away to scream excitedly and tackle him to the ground. Bubby took a moment to recover from the impact before punching Harold playfully in the chest.

“Can’t you just be normal for five minutes?” Bubby demanded, unable to resist a smile.

“I can’t! I’m full of love!” Harold exclaimed.

After Harold and Bubby got a hold of themselves, Gordon gave a long, emotional speech about how happy he was for Bubby and Harold—which immediately had Harold sobbing again. After he was finished, Harold pulled Gordon and Bubby into a tight hug. It took a lot of persuasion for him to finally let them go so they could proceed with the reception, Gordon getting the playlist Harold and Bubby put together playing while Benry immediately began decimating the bowl of vodka-soaked pineapple slices.

Such a small party with their closest friends was the best decision they could have made, Bubby decided. Only Tommy seemed to have any sort of real experience dancing, and Bubby was pretty sure Gordon was just doing gun reload animations from video games while Benry did literally the only dance he seemed to know, so he only felt a little self conscious as he began dancing with Harold. Once _the_ song began playing—Call Me Irresponsible—Bubby let out content sigh, slipping into Harold’s arms easily and dancing slowly. He remembered the times they’d danced to this before. Before Harold’s wedding with Veronica, when the fantasy of marrying Harold felt so painfully impossible. Then after their divorce, when the two of them had been through so much already, Harold so broken after Veronica.

They were together now, though, after all these years, finally celebrating their love for one another whole-heartedly. Bubby couldn’t be any happier.

After the wedding, Harold and Bubby drove out to the desert. It was finally dark out, and by the time they assessed they were far enough from the light pollution of the city, Harold pulled over and they climbed out to sit on the hood of the car. Harold looped his arm loosely around Bubby’s waist, holding him close as they stared up at the night sky bright with twinkling stars.

“...Do you think the sky is actually there, this time?” Bubby asked Harold suddenly.

“Hm?”

“When I got on the rocket during the game, I went past the skybox.” Bubby explained. “It was just...well, you saw it. Nothing. I’ve always wondered since then if I tried to go up to space again, if I would go back to that void or actually make it out to space.”

“...I don’t know. I know the world we’re in still isn’t... _real_ , strictly speaking, but...we’ve been able to go other places, so I don’t see why space is out of the question.”

“Hm.”

“Why do you ask?”

Bubby shrugged. “It’s just...weird to think that all that time we spent stargazing together, maybe the stars were never actually there at all.”

“Well...” Harold paused thoughtfully. “We still had fun looking at them, didn’t we?”

Bubby looked back at Harold, draping his arm over his shoulders. “Yeah.”

“...Whatever lets us be here together after the game ended, Bubby, I’m... _so_ grateful for it.” Harold said quietly, leaning his head against Bubby’s shoulder. “I was so afraid after Tommy’s party that would be it. I was happy we got Gordon to the end like we were meant to, but...we’re here now. And even if it’s not real, I don’t care. I’m just happy to be here with you.”

Bubby nodded. “Me, too.”

“I was going to say all that during our vows.” Harold laughed. “I just got too emotional.”

Bubby snorted. “If you said that in front of everyone, I might have had to kill you, so it’s fine.”

“Why’s that?”

“...Because I definitely would have started crying.”

Harold barked out a loud laugh. “Oh, we couldn’t have you crying at our wedding, could we?”

“Absolutely not.”

Harold and Bubby sat there in contented silence for a long time before Bubby slapped away the third mosquito of the night with a huff.

“Christ, this is romantic and everything, but I’m getting sick of being eaten alive out here.” He grumbled. “Let’s go home.”

Harold nodded. “That sounds good.”

Before they hopped off the hood of the car to climb in, Harold pulled Bubby in for another kiss. “I love you, Bubby.”

Bubby let out a happy sigh as he stared back at Harold for a moment, just pausing to enjoy looking at him. It had been decades since they met, and Bubby still thought Harold might very well be the most beautiful man in the world. “I love you, Harold.”

The two of them climbed back into the car and began their drive home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well there u have it! i hope this version is more enjoyable than the first one! aside from all the problems i had with the original that i already laid out i also just wanted to make the story feel more unified and stylistically like the next part of the series. i hope i achieved that...!!
> 
> this fic deliberately leaves specific things off to address later in the next fic....most notably bubby's perception on their relationship, i tried to set up stuff he talks about later with how he felt about the prototypes, and sort of the codependency issue he was nervous about, stuff like that. then stuff with dr. coomer and his clones gets addressed too in the next one. so like if u don't intend to read the next one (understandable lol) just know that doesn't go untalked about lol
> 
> anyways ya!!! thank u for reading!!!!


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